Back to the Beginning
by Ocean of Ashes
Summary: A prequel to Against the Odds. A slightly alternative Season 12 fic chronicling events that led up to the start of Against the Odds. When Michael proposes, Neela is faced with a hard decision.
1. Fighting the inevitable

Disclaimer: All material and characters related to ER are not of my creation, and are owned by NBC etc, not myself.

Spoilers: Only for another of my stories, Against the Odds. This is a companion piece to that story, and although it makes sense without it, it's not really much of a story on its own.

Author's Note: Well, here's the prequel to Against the Odds; bet you were beginning to doubt you were actually ever going to see it, I know I've been promising it for weeks now. Before I start on it, I'll just set out the premise I've been working under in order to hopefully make things a little clearer. This story basically runs parallel to events in Season 12 and the early part of Season 13, with the one basic difference being that instead of getting married on the same day Michael and Neela get married the day after he proposes. Also, I'm not entirely sure when Abby got pregnant, but for the purposes of Against the Odds, she had been pregnant for a month or two before the wedding, which I think is earlier than it happened in the show. Any questions, just ask, but I'm sorry if this is slow going – I haven't seen any of Season 12 so I'm just going to roll with my interpretation of things, which will probably not be absolutely as it happened on the show, for which I ask you to accept my apologies. If there's a glaring discrepancy that bothers you, let me know how to fix it!

Rating: M – if you've read Against the Odds, you'll know why it's rated M. Not sure yet, but can't rule out a bit of strong language as well so be warned.

Back to the beginning

The first shot of tequila burnt a fiery trail down his throat, but he ignored it and refilled the glass before he'd even caught his breath, telling himself the tears in his eyes were entirely as a result of the alcohol. Nothing else.

She was getting married.

The second one was as bad as the first, and his hands were shaking. Down to the alcohol of course.

Tomorrow. She was getting married tomorrow.

He hadn't even bothered with beer. There was six pack in the fridge with his name on it, but it wasn't enough. Beer was for relaxing, and he was craving oblivion. He wanted to descend into a dark, blinding, crushing oblivion where he never had to hear her name or see her smile or listen to her laugh.

He had heard Jerry and Morris talking about it at the admit desk. She had happened to be there as well, and when he turned to look at her, a look of shock on his face and a question in his eyes, in the split second it took her to meet his gaze, he knew it was true before she said the words. He'd managed to choke out some congratulations before blinding grabbing a handful of charts and stalking off.

She ran after him. 'Ray, Ray wait up.'

He didn't stop walking. He just couldn't bring himself to look at her. Then he felt a small, soft hand warm on his arm and her quiet appeal stilled his steps. 'Ray, what's the matter?'

What's the matter? _What's the matter? _Was she stupid, blind, or just plain cruel? Then he looked at her, and his anger died. Those big brown eyes were all hurt and confusion, and he couldn't stay mad at her. At himself, yes, for feeling this way, and at Gallant, who thought he could swing back into town whenever he liked and just march her up the aisle, but not at her, never at her.

'I just… I have to say I'm a little surprised, that's all.' He tried to keep his voice casual.

'Well, I'm kind of surprised myself,' she admitted. 'But…' She shrugged. She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know what she was doing herself. Agreeing to marry Michael, tomorrow, was a whirlwind decision, so unlike her, but Michael was amazing, loving and caring and strong, and he made her pulse race a little when she was close to him.

And the thing she had about Ray? Well, that was just crazy. They were roommates, friends, nothing more, and never would be. He was wild, irresponsible; only a matter of weeks ago, he'd been sleeping with an underage groupie, and he was in a band and drove her crazy, and… And maybe when she married Michael the voice in her head that had been increasingly telling her, just as it was right now, his hazel eyes staring down at her full of pain, that she might not be as crazy in thinking this as she thought she was, would give up and go away.

He wasn't going to let her get away with her half answer. 'But what, Neela?' He needed to hear her say the words. He didn't know whether it was because he thought that if she said it out loud, she might miraculously realise her mistake, or if he just wanted to torture himself, but he needed to hear her say that she loved Gallant.

'But… just because it's a crazy thing to do, it doesn't mean I shouldn't do it.'

What an impeccable answer, he thought. It answered his question perfectly, but on the other hand, didn't answer it at all. And whether she had intended it or not, it gave him the opportunity to fight for her, to tell her the truth. But they both knew he wouldn't take it.

'Well, good luck with it.' He hoped the smile he forced onto his face looked less like a grimace than it felt.

Neela watched his departing back. What had all that been about? Her instinct was telling her that that hurt look in his eyes, that angry demeanour, was down to something that the very prospect of which made her stomach flutter, and her pulse race in a way that it had _never _done with Michael. But it couldn't be. Her rational side tried to talk herself out of it, but the seed of doubt was in her mind now, and it was taking hold.

The third shot of tequila was no less painful than the ones that it chased down. Never again would they have those easy, relaxed nights here together, just the two of them, drinking beer and eating junk, the real world on the other side of a locked door. Now that little world would be gone, she would be gone.

He poured another, and it went the way of the others, too quickly, and he choked on it a little. The burn in his throat had reached his stomach now, but he still felt chilled to the bone at the prospect of losing her.

He wondered briefly if he should ease up. It was, after all, the wedding of the year tomorrow, and he didn't want to go there with a hangover to add to the pain. In fact, he didn't want to go at all. With another shot in hand, he questioned why he should have to at all. Why should he have to go and watched the woman he… loved? Yes, maybe even loved, get married to someone else. Then he imagined the look on her face as she cast her eyes, those deep, beautiful eyes of hers, around the room, and realised he wasn't there. Other than Abby, he knew he was her best friend, and he couldn't not go to her wedding. He wasn't that selfish.

But if he didn't go, then at least she would _know. _She would know for sure, beyond accidental brushes of skin on skin and looks that said more than words dared to. If he couldn't bring himself to go to her wedding then at last the pretence would be over and she would know, once and for all, that he was in love with her.

'Neela.' She held open the elevator door for Abby to rush in alongside her. She had been headed for the roof for some fresh air, to think, but she didn't mind company in the form of Abby.

'Hey,' Neela replied wearily, resting her head back against the wall of the elevator and pressing the button to take them to the very top. Abby took in the destination, and her friend's worried eyes, bit lip, preoccupied air. To her, they didn't look like the pre-wedding jitters of a regular blushing bride.

'Neela, are you okay?'

When she said, 'I'm fine,' Abby knew for sure something was wrong. She waited for a minute to see if there was going to be any elaboration, but there wasn't.

'You're going to the roof; that usually means you're not fine.'

'I'm just nervous, that's all. I'm getting married tomorrow, I'm allowed to be nervous, aren't I?' She knew she was being snappy and defensive, and hated herself for it. Why did she always have to be such an open book?

'Nerves are normal Neela. Biting your best friend's head off for asking a simple question is not.' The elevator doors opened with a ping and they stepped out into the cold, crisp air. 'So what is it, what's wrong?'

Neela stalked over to the railing, gripping it tightly and looking out over the city. She sighed. 'You think I'm crazy marrying Michael, don't you?'

'Yes, but just because it's crazy, that doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't do it.' Abby chose her words carefully, not lying but hedging her bets until she could be sure in what direction the conversation was going to go.

Neela turned to look at her. 'That's exactly what I said to…' And then she stopped guiltily, and she knew she had just gifted Abby her secret on a plate.

'To Ray, honey?'

She nodded.

'And Ray's the real reason you've got cold feet, isn't he?'

'I don't know, I honestly don't. And even if I did, what's the point, he's Ray isn't he? The great Ray Barnett. It doesn't matter if I do have some pathetic schoolgirl crush on someone who wouldn't look twice at me unless my chest grew and my IQ shrank. I'm getting married. That's the main thing, right?' Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was persuading herself.

Abby was reluctant to answer. This was too big a decision for her to risk even giving an opinion; she didn't want to influence anything. She cast about for a suitable response. 'All I know Neela, is that whatever happens, whatever decisions we make, that against the odds, against anything we throw at it, love will win out in the end. It may take years, but what is meant to be, will be.'

There was something in Abby's voice that made Neela think she was talking about something else than there here and now, and her gaze, fixed blankly on a point in the middle distance, wasn't looking out over the city as Neela's was. She was seeing something totally different, and from the private, half smile on her face, it was obviously something good.

His hand was unsteady as he refilled the glass for the… how many times was it now? The very periphery of his vision was beginning to blur, but the black oblivion that he was so desperately seeking him had not arrived yet.

Instead, visions of her danced through his mind, from when he first met her to seeing her in that stupid Statue of Liberty hat, to the time she had hunted him down after his gig to call him out over his behaviour, to feeling her cool, smooth hand in his much larger one as they shook hands and sealed his fate.

God, all those missed opportunities. If he'd had the courage to take just one of them, he might not be sitting here alone, drinking tequila like it was going out of fashion, haunted by thoughts of her pledging her love and her life to someone else.

He felt tears pricking at his eyes again, and this time, now the alcohol was in his system, he didn't have the strength to fight them. Brushing angrily at the moisture, he decided the answer was to pour another drink. He tried turning the TV on for a bit of hollow company, but the very first channel that came on was showing the World Poker Tour and he switched it off instantly.

At least she was out tonight. There was talk of a hen night of some sort. At least she didn't have to see him behaving like such a pathetic mess.

Neela and Abby were silent for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Abby came back to the present, and she remembered why she had tracked Neela down in the first place.

'Anyway, I came to find you to say, Sam and Chuny are making noises about a hen night tonight. Nothing much, but a few drinks at Ike's I guess. I wanted to check your views on the matter before they got too carried away with it.'

'A hen night?'

'Yes. Feel free to say if you don't want to.'

Neela thought about it. A hen night; that would make it more like a real wedding. It would feel as if she was actually getting married if she had a hen night. And if she could go out and get absolutely plastered, she might feel like shit in the morning, but at least she wouldn't lie in bed, awake all night, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

'No,' she smiled. 'I want a hen night. Let's have a hen night.'

And right up until she was standing on the pavement outside Ike's, she really thought that a hen night would help, that she would be able to have a few drinks and let her hair down, and it would all be okay. She could hear strains of music and shrieks of laughter coming from inside. Her hand hovered over the handle. And then she took a step backwards, away from the party, away from reality.

When Ray heard a key in the lock, he frowned. Who was that? Only Neela had a key, but it couldn't be her. She was out celebrating her… her wedding. He pulled himself up, and stumbled out into the corridor. 'Hello?'

'Ray…'

Through the alcohol haze, he saw her standing there, an expression that he didn't understand on her face. She was dressed for her night out, in dark denim jeans and a tight black jumper. It had a v neck and he could see the coffee coloured skin of her chest rising and falling. All he could really think, through the tequila and the sudden pounding of blood in his skull, was that she looked very beautiful and vulnerable, and even though she was getting married tomorrow, she was here. With him. 'Neela?'

Slowly, she began to walk towards him, trying not to think. Tonight, she just wanted to be.

'Neela, what are you doing here? I thought…'

She was shaking her head. 'There was somewhere else I had to be,' she said quietly, looking up at him with wide, scared eyes.

'Where–'

She cut him off with a finger on his lips. 'Here. With you.'


	2. Giving in

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews on the first chapter, sorry it's taken me a while to update again. It always takes me a bit of time to really get into writing a new story, plus I'm doing some office temping at the moment and I'm usually too frazzled when I get home from work to be able to write anything decent. Oh, and a rating warning – this is the M rated chapter.

Confusion flitted across his face. Even through his drunkenness, he knew what he _thought_ she meant, but she couldn't. Dreams didn't come true like that for him; it just wasn't possible. She was getting married, she had made her choice, and it wasn't him. So… why?

He tried to ask her another question, but feeling her finger against his lips took his mind entirely off the words he had been attempting to say. Instead, he opened his mouth just wide enough to slip his tongue out to lick her fingertip lightly. She gave a low moan even at such a fleeting touch, and, encouraged, he took the finger in his mouth and began to suck at it. Her eyelids fluttered a little as she thought of all the other things his tongue could be doing, and he took another step towards her, the apprehension beginning to fade, closing the distance between them to nothing.

Neela felt his body against hers, and it was every bit as good as she'd dreamed it would be. He was all heat and muscle and sinew and they were so close she could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his breath on her hand. His lips were now resting against her wrist, making her pulse race underneath them, and, very slowly, he began to kiss the skin there, blood pumping through her veins all too quickly at his touch.

He knew he shouldn't. He knew he should stop her, stop this, before it was too late, or at the very least, ask a few more questions, but he couldn't. All he could smell, feel, taste, was her and it was an utterly intoxicating combination. He'd been dreaming of her like this for weeks now, of her soft skin and dark eyes, and hot, wet lips.

Only this morning, he'd thought all hope was lost forever. And now she was standing before _him _on the night before her wedding telling him this was where she belonged.

'Neela,' he mumbled against her wrist, 'if you want me to tell you I think this is wrong, and that you should marry Michael, I'm not going to.'

'Good,' she said emphatically. She took her arm down, pulling her wrist away from him and looking at his deeply as she rose up on her toes, inching closer to his lips. She was close enough for him to feel her breath when she finished her sentence in a whisper. 'Because this can't be wrong.'

He knew he could question her reasons, analyse what they were doing, or try to imagine whether in the morning she would wake up thinking she had just done the best or worst thing in her life, but he could feel that that wasn't what this was meant to be about. This was giving in to this deep, unspoken bond between them that had been gradually brewing and building ever since that first afternoon that he had laid eyes on a captivatingly beautiful, dark, troubled looking creature who, then, he had no idea would play such an important role in his life. This wasn't about thinking; they had both thought far too much about this, this was about _not _thinking.

They stared at each other, suspended in time, for a long moment. If they did this, there would be no going back; whatever happened, things would never be quite the same again. There would be no more pretending, no more denial that every look had unspoken words behind it, that every touch had a hidden intention. It was a gamble, the biggest either of them had ever taken and now, at the point of throwing the dice, the enormity of it all made a flicker of doubt flare up in both their minds.

Then Neela took the initiative and with a hand in his hair, short, sharp nails digging lightly into his scalp, she pulled him down to her, feeling the uncertainty dissolve with the space between them. _Because this couldn't be wrong._

The kiss began slow and soft. Gradually, as their lips moved against each other, his mouth opened enough for her to be able to gently press her tongue inside, and as she did so, she could taste the tequila as well as the fantastic taste of just him that made her forget everything but him, them, right now. She leaned into him as she felt her body begin to weaken and the heat that had started in the pit of her stomach was diffusing through her, tingles spreading all the way to the ends of her toes and the tips of her fingers.

Ray thought he was going to explode. He wasn't sure if it was going to be his head, or his heart, or another part of him that he rather hoped wouldn't be exploding just yet, but he knew that he couldn't be _this _close to her and not lose absolutely all control he had over himself. The kiss was growing in urgency, no longer the careful, sensual dance that it had started off as, but something faster, needier, more selfish. His hands, which had been resting gently on her hips were now grasping her, fingers digging into her flesh hard, pulling her against him firmly so she could feel what she was doing to him, and she was now clawing at his back, one hand over the material of his t-shirt, and the other in the process of slipping up underneath it, searing over his skin with a heat he couldn't begin to describe.

He groaned desperately as he gave himself over to the rising passion between them and, in a brief, breathless break between kisses, he heard her gasp, 'Ray, oh god…' as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her trousers and started to caress her skin, working his hands as far down as the tight material would allow him to go.

She stumbled backwards, no longer able to support herself with all the sensations coursing through her body, until her back hit a wall with a crash, stopping her from falling. She pulled him with her and he staggered forwards, unsteady on his feet thanks to all the alcohol he had consumed, and fell against her, squeezing her breath out of her as he pressed her against the wall.

Her hands were plucking at his clothes now. His t-shirt was gone and he heard the buckle of his belt being undone before he even realised what she was doing. Frowning a little with the effort of concentration, he tried to undo the buttons of her shirt, but they were small and fiddly, and his tequila numbed hands needed her help. He watched as she undid the buttons, revealing more and more impeccable chocolate skin with each one, until the shirt hung open, one side slipping down her shoulder.

He took a deep breath at the sight of her, and grabbed hold of the material, peeling it roughly down her arms. The cuffs must have still been done up because there was resistance as he tried to get it over her wrists and he heard a button pop off and hit the wall opposite, but if he hurt her, she didn't complain. Instead, she purposefully took one of his hands, and, bringing it to her mouth, kissed his fingers before placing it on her breast.

They stilled for a moment as he cupped her breast, aware that they may have just crossed the point of no return. He felt the satin of her bra, dark blue and utterly beautiful in its simplicity, under his palm and he was done with waiting. She seemed sure, and that was all the reassurance he needed. He unzipped her trousers and tugged them down urgently, and helped her as she did the same to him. She could feel him pressing against her, hot and hard, and his teeth were trailing a line of small bites down the side of her neck as he slid slowly from her mouth, along her jawline to her earlobe then down her throat as she tipped her head back, offering him as much skin as she was able to.

'Ray, please…'

He tried to lead her towards his bedroom but she resisted. 'Come with me then.'

'No,' she answered, pulling him back to the wall. 'Here. Now.' He looked at her doubtfully; he had wanted this to be different, not some brutal screw against a wall, which was what it was rapidly descending to. But there was something urgent, desperate and oddly pleading in her eyes that told him that she _needed _this, not just in a sexual sense, but in a deeper, almost primal way.

That look in her eyes, he wished he knew what it was. There was lust, yes, and maybe even love, but this was more. Fate? Destiny? His own fevered imagination? Then her warm hand slipped inside his boxers to cup him and every last thought he could muster took flight and left him behind. _With her._

He reached behind her back to undo her bra with a well practised flick with one hand, and pulled it away from her body with the other. As he dipped his head to plant a line of kisses down her breast to take her nipple in his mouth, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her as he began to nip and suck, his hands went to her panties. One finger, then another, crept under the lace and at his touch, her eyes slid shut and she began to whimper with desire.

'Please, please Ray. I want you, I need to feel you.'

He lifted her up against the wall, holding her in place with one hand underneath her thigh, his fingers grasping at her skin tightly, and the other on her breast again, his thumb flicking her nipple. He kissed her roughly with an open mouth, and with perfect timing thrust his tongue in alongside hers at just the same moment he thrust himself into her. Something approaching a scream was ripped from her throat and he heard rather than felt himself shout her name in response.

As they moved faster, the air around them was flooded with heat and noise, and with every thrust he slammed her slight body against the wall. As she panted, he felt her breasts rubbing against the skin of his chest, and it was driving him half crazy. 'Neela,' he groaned, and his hand, now tangled in her hair, tightened to a fist, not allowing her to move as much as an inch away from him. Then he felt her nails dig deeper into his shoulder, her knees grip his waist more firmly, and she came just when he couldn't contain himself any longer.

When it was over, she kissed him gently as he rested his forehead against her own. 'Thank you Ray.'

And she meant it. She was so grateful to him, for _everything_. For offering her a place to live when she had nowhere else to turn, for making her laugh, more often than not at herself, for never seeking more from her than she was willing to give. And tonight, she had given him everything she had to offer. He had accepted the gift willingly, without asking why, after all the opportunities they had missed, she had chosen to do this now, on the eve of her wedding to another man, and she was grateful for that too.

'Thank you for what?' he asked softly. Now they were just talking, admittedly wound naked around each other up against a wall they had nearly just put a crack into, but just talking, and it seemed like she was Neela again, _his _Neela. That intimidating, other worldly quality had gone and the doubt and uncertainty he felt was gone with it. How could he have ever thought this was a bad idea?

'For being you,' she replied simply. Then she gave him a sparkling smile that made his heart skip a beat and she took his hand and said, 'come on, let's go to bed.'

He followed her wordlessly, picking their way through the carelessly strewn clothes that adorned the corridor.

This time it was different, far more careful and far less violent, fingers caressing flesh instead of digging into it, teeth grazing and teasing instead of biting, but it still didn't take them long to work each other back to a frenzy of passion. Her lips were tenderly moving their way across his chest and with one hand, he parted her thighs, ready.

Then he suddenly remembered something that he really should have thought about earlier in the corridor, and probably would have done if he had been capable of such a mundane thing as thought. He reached out to the little chest of drawers beside his bed, and searched blindly for the packet of condoms he perpetually kept there; he might be promiscuous, but he was always careful – he had no desire for some unknown woman to turn up on his doorstep claiming to hold his baby in her arms, and his recent shambles of a relationship with Zoe had taught him there were more things than fatherhood he should worry about. With a sinking feeling, he found an empty box.

She was pressing her hips against him and he heard her begging in his ear with hot, ragged breaths, but he said reluctantly, 'Neela, I don't have –'

She kissed him again. 'I don't care.'

He was surprised at her lack of concern, but then, he reasoned, they hadn't been exactly careful in the corridor. No use in shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. Still, he had to check. 'Are you sure?' he asked, hoping frantically that she wouldn't change her mind. 'I want you to be sure.'

'I'm sure, I'm sure,' she gasped. 'Please Ray. Now.'

He slid into her slowly, prolonging both their agonies. He held her by the wrists, pinning her to the bed, but gently, and kissed the fabulously soft skin on the undersides of her arms.

She moaned every time he moved within her and the sound of her ecstasy was spurring him on and bringing him further to his own.

Then she arched her back and tightened around him, and fell again into waves of pleasure. Clinging desperately to him, she cried out. 'Ray, oh god, Ray. I love you, I love you.'

Somehow, he was just about still capable of thought this time, and as he nuzzled her neck in the calm after the storm, he couldn't help but analyse her words. _She had said she loved him._ All right, he wasn't stupid, he _knew _people, even someone as artless and unmanipulative as Neela, said things they didn't mean in bed. Heat of the moment, so to speak, and all that; he had certainly been guilty of that particular crime. But this was different. He brought his head up to look into her eyes, trying to find the answer there, and he did. Those bright, beautiful eyes were full of a love that he knew was mirrored in his own, and in that instant, he knew it wasn't a lie or an accident she'd said what she did. It was true, and she meant it.

When, much later, he drifted off to sleep, it was with a wide smile on his face. This morning, he'd thought he'd lost her forever, but now, she was lying next to him, raven black hair fanned out on his chest as she used him as a pillow, holding his hand tightly, as if she was never going to let go.

And best of all, she said she loved him. _She loved him._


	3. The cold light of day

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews for this story. I'm a little worried that this doesn't work too well, as you all know what's going to happen, but I'm going to plough on with it – if you think it's worth it? I'm not incredibly fond of this chapter – I had writers' block on it, so I've just tried to force it out, so I hope you think it's all right. I haven't checked this over yet, but I wanted to get it up before work, so I'll go through it tonight and hopefully pick up all the typos, grammar and spelling mistakes that are bound to be here.

_NB Promised re-write now done - not too many changes_

Neela woke sometime around dawn. It was a grey, uninspiring day, cold, and she had no desire to move from where she lay. She was curled on Ray's chest, feeling utterly at home, and his body felt warm and firm below her. She looked down at their fingers, pale and dark, entwined together. Thank god she didn't have an engagement ring.

Last night had been perfect, magical, and everything she had dreamed it would be. They'd made love all night, sleeping fitfully when they were too exhausted to do anything more, but before long, one would wake and begin to softly kiss the other into awareness, then passion, once again. It had been… beyond description. She had never felt so alive, so complete. And she didn't think she had ever needed someone as much as she had needed him right then.

She propped herself up a little on her elbow to watch his sleeping form. A smile played about his lips, and he looked so content, so happy lying there. She didn't think she'd ever seen him like that. It wasn't just sleep – she'd seen him asleep on the sofa before, and sometimes in bed when she had to wake him up (usually with the aid of a glass of very cold water) when he was running late for work, so she knew the peace written all over his beautiful face wasn't simply a product of being at rest. It was far more than that. It was the same feeling of contentment that she felt flowing through her veins. As if she had found where she belonged. As if she was _home._

The night had answered all of her questions. _What's the matter, _she had asked him when he stormed off at the admit desk. Now she knew. _And the thing she had about Ray? _She had asked herself that one. The answer was now crystal clear. It might be crazy, but if it was, she wasn't the only one flirting with insanity. _I'm allowed to be nervous, aren't I? _Most brides get worried that they're marrying the right man, she was worried that she was marrying the wrong one. She was perfectly permitted to be nervous, it was the cold feeling of doubt that she knew she should not have.

_I'm getting married. That's the main thing, right?_

That one however, set off a whole round of new questions. Was that the main thing? Was she even still getting married? She didn't know if she could stand next to Michael today, _today _and say all those things that she was going to have to. To love him, only him. Until death. It seemed so final. To wake up every morning for the rest of her life, to Michael. To go to bed every night with Michael. Forever seemed like a very long time when she thought about Michael. It didn't seem like quite so long when she thought of Ray.

She looked down to Ray, and tried to imagine Michael there instead. It worked, she could see it being Michael instead. She could see Michael's face with the same happy contentment that Ray's currently wore, she could see Michael's face there forever.

And it made her feel… safe. Not excited, or breathless, or with the same rush of belonging that she felt now, but safe. Protected? Definitely. Happy? Yes, happy too. Everyone might think she was crazy marrying Michael, but she knew, unswervingly, that it was not as crazy an idea as it appeared. It was safe, he was safe.

Ray was… Ray. If she stayed here now, then she wouldn't marry Michael. And if she didn't marry Michael, she would… What _would _she do? As much as she wanted with all her heart for it to be otherwise, she knew, in the cold light of day, that she and Ray could never really work. It was a beautiful dream, one she would cherish forever, but not all dreams came true. She wasn't going to let herself get disappointed by overromanticising what they did. They had been leading up to the explosion of passion, of feeling between them for a long time. That was what it was, a release of tension. And now they had done that, that was it. Enough. It was over. It wasn't going to lead to a relationship, and it certainly wasn't going to lead to marriage.

He was Ray Barnett. He was all about flings, groupies, what came along easily. If she gave up her chance with Michael, it might be fantastic for a few weeks, but after that? It would undoubtedly degenerate into awkwardness, embarrassment, pain. Ray was her best friend, and she couldn't bear to lose him. She just_ couldn't_, and she knew that a relationship with Ray would, ultimately, mean that that friendship was gone. She only hoped that she hadn't ruined things now.

Slowly, he began to stir, and smiled sleepily at her. 'Morning you.' He reached up for a kiss, and she couldn't help but respond to him as their lips met. 'Last night was…' He kissed her again, gently toying with her lower lip with his teeth. 'Beyond my wildest dreams.'

He couldn't begin to describe how he felt, waking up next to her this morning. He felt so damn privileged. He had been lusting after her for so long, drawn by her dark, understated beauty from the very first moment he saw her, but now he knew he felt much more for her than simply lust.

He loved her.

He'd never been in love before, but he finally knew for sure that that was exactly what this was. Normally, it was this awkward, pre-breakfast, post coital moment that he sought to avoid. By now, he was usually out of bed, staggering around in the half light trying to find his clothes, doing his best to get dressed and make his escape without waking the girl whose bed he had just shared.

This morning, he felt the complete opposite. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to wake up every morning to the sight of those chocolate brown eyes gazing down at him and the imprint of her body on the pillow next to him. He pulled away from the kiss, just so he could have the pleasure of looking at her.

He stroked her face. He was just about to let all these feelings come tumbling out of him in a stream of words that he hoped would sweep them both away when, suddenly, he looked into her eyes, deeper than he had before, and he knew there was something terribly wrong. She looked desperately sad, as if her world was falling down around her ears, and fear gripped him.

Although he didn't drop his hand, the movement of his fingers, playing gently along her jawline, ceased. 'Neela? Neela, what is it?'

She began to draw slowly away from him.

'Neela?' he asked again, when she didn't say anything.

She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a sheet up around her. She took a breath, and tried to say the words like she believed they were true. 'Ray, last night was… all that I hoped it would be,' she said reluctantly.

'But?' he asked warily.

'But that's all it was, a night. One, perfect night.'

He didn't understand what he was hearing. She couldn't mean that. _Surely _she couldn't mean that. 'But… I don't understand,' he stuttered.

'I'm still getting married. This doesn't change things,' she explained in a monotone, trying not to let her true feelings shine through as tears pricked at her eyes.

He looked at her blankly. How could last night not have changed things? How could they have made love, because that's what they had done, _made love_, until they didn't have the strength to lift their heads from the pillows anymore, only for her to turn around now and say that she was still getting married. 'What are you saying?' he asked.

'We both know this has been brewing between us for a while Ray. Last night was our last chance, I couldn't bear the thought of us not…'

'Not what, Neela?' The incomprehension in his voice was beginning to give way to anger.

She backed away further. What she really wanted to say was she couldn't bear the thought of never being allowed to feel the burn of Ray's skin on her own, of never feeling the press of his hips against hers. As soon as she married Michael, she was signing away that hope forever, but she had wanted to make the most of her last chance. She was disgusted with herself by how much that made it sound like she was using him. She swore to god that had never been her intention.

'I'm sorry Ray. I didn't mean for it to be like this.'

Then his temper broke. He leapt off the bed, standing before her. 'Then what the fuck did you mean it to be Neela? The night before you're due to get married in an insane, out of the blue ceremony with some absent soldier who you barely know, you tell me that you belong with me. _I'm sorry _if I got the wrong impression.'

His anger scared her, actually frightened her. His fists were clenched and his eyes were dark with fury. She stood up to try to calm him, not thinking as the sheet fell away from her.

'Ray, please don't be like this.'

'What the hell did you expect?' His eyes travelled over her naked body, and she knew despite his anger, he was only half a step away from grabbing her and pinning her to the bed and having her all over again. She was scared by how much she wanted him to.

She couldn't ignore the situation though. Ray was shouting at her, angry and upset at her, and she couldn't bear it. She hated herself for turning on the waterworks, but she couldn't hold back her tears. This was the one thing she would have given the world not to happen. '_Please _Ray,' she begged. 'I– I thought you understood what this was.'

'Sure I did. I understood when you told me you loved me. _You told me you loved me._' Even now, in his rage, a part of him still wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, wipe away those tears that he knew he had caused, and lay her down on the bed, and make love to her all day, in their own little world, while the rest of those clueless bastards sat waiting at a wedding ceremony that they all knew shouldn't be happening.

'I…' She didn't think she could find it within herself to deny it. She thought of when she'd said it. She thought of how his hands glided over her body, knowing instinctively all her favourite spots to be touched and kissed, of how she had felt to feel him moving slowly, deeply within her, of how it had felt to arch her back and let go to him. It had been perfect, and the perfect moment to say it. But if she didn't lie now, he'd never let her marry Michael, and she _had _to marry Michael.

'I never said that,' she whispered, wishing she didn't have to.

'Don't lie to me Neela. We both know you said it.' His anger had stilled, and he took a step towards her, speaking more softly now. She shook her head, and he put his pride aside.

'_Please Neela, don't lie to me._'

'I… I have to go.' He reached out to grab her, but she stepped away from him. 'Don't Ray. Just don't.'

With one last imploring look at him, she ran from the room, and he heard her bedroom door slam after her.

Ray sank down onto the bed in defeat, heartbroken, head in his hands, doing his very best not to cry. Ray Barnett did _not _cry, as simple as that. He waited quietly as he got his breathing back under control and the lump of grief in his throat subsided just about enough to be able to swallow again.

He couldn't believe what had happened. He couldn't believe he had _fallen in love _and yet had been given such a fleeting glimpse of it. How was he going to survive for the rest of his life on the memories of last night alone? Because that's what he was going to have to do; those memories were going to have to last him forever. It seemed like a very long time.

But then, what did he have to offer her? Love yes, but that wasn't always enough. He wasn't ready for marriage, not even with her, and that's obviously what she wanted. Security, safety. He could give her excitement and passion and fun, but he couldn't guarantee that he could make it last; he would kill himself trying, but he couldn't make promises. If Gallant could, then perhaps that was where a better future for her lay. She deserved someone who could look after her and take care of her and… She deserved someone better than him. Trying to ignore the pain in his heart at the thought of her with someone else, he knew that above all, he wanted to her be happy, and if she thought Gallant was the one to make her happy then… so be it. He wanted the best for her, and that's all there was to it.

Pulling on some old clothes that were lying around, he made his way tentatively to her room, knocking quietly on her door. There was no answer.

'Neela, please can I come in?' he asked softly, letting her know that his anger had now passed.

She still didn't say anything, but after a short silence, he heard her pad across the room and the door opened slowly. She stepped aside to let him in, and he stepped forwards into the darkened room nervously. She was standing there, looking so small and lost, and he could see she had been crying, which made his heart break all over again.

'I'm sorry that I lost my temper,' he began.

'That's okay.'

'No, it's not.' He wanted so badly to reach out to her, to brush away that tear that was trailing down her skin. It killed him that he would never be able to feel that perfect softness again. 'I made you cry, and you know I'd never intentionally do that. If you think…' He felt a quaver in his voice, but he pressed on, determined. 'If you really think that Michael's the one to make you happy, then I wish you all the happiness in the world.'

She looked up at him hopefully, not sure what was behind this turn around, but so, so grateful for it. She didn't want to be at odds with Ray, she couldn't bear the thought of him not being there today. She didn't know if that made her selfish, but she didn't care, she needed his support. She didn't like to think what that might mean for her marriage.

'Do you mean that?'

'Yes, I do. You're my best friend Neela, I won't lose that for anything, I can't.'

And, tears in both their eyes, he took her into his arms, and wished things could be different.


	4. Mind over matter

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay, I've now seen I Do, so I feel a little more able to write this story. I've also finished working – for now, so hopefully the chapters will be coming a little faster. I must say, quite frankly, I Do was a bit of a disappointment, and I found the highlights being things that they really shouldn't have been, like Morris and Weaver getting drunk and Luka and Clemente's "competitive agreeing competition". I'd always thought that Michael and Neela were believable before, but I kinda didn't get any chemistry at all in that. The real I Do in the episode for me was clearly Abby and Luka's at the end.

Michael had stayed with Pratt that night, a small concession to the tradition of a groom not seeing the bride before the wedding day. However, there was too much to organise for them to abide by it too religiously, and he turned up at the apartment early to ride into work with her on the El, full of excitement at the prospect of seeing her, and the day ahead.

Ray was in the shower when she heard a knock on the door. Quickly, she buttoned up her trousers and grabbed the first thing she came to – a green jumper – and pulled it over her head, rushing to get there before Ray took it into his head to go and answer it himself.

'Coming,' she called out, as she tugged a brush through her hair, trying to make herself look respectable. She suspected it might be Michael, and hoped some of the puffiness around her eyes had faded, that the tear tracks that had chased down her cheeks were now no longer visible. She didn't know how she'd be able to explain them if he noticed.

She opened the door, and he swept her into his embrace before she had the chance to so much as say hello. 'Good morning Mrs Gallant.'

She felt sick, sick to the stomach at the sight of the love, the enthusiasm dancing in his warm brown eyes, when all she had to offer was lies and betrayal.

Part of her thought it would surely be kinder to walk away now. To break his heart right now, when there was still the chance that he might be able, one day, to piece it back together again. She disentangled herself from his arms, swallowing against the lump in her throat. 'Umm, Michael, I…' But the words wouldn't come. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she knew there would be no confessions, not today, and if not today, then not ever.

Realising she'd inadvertently started a sentence, she cast around for a plausible way to end it. 'I'm going to keep my name, I hope you don't mind.'

'Of course not,' he smiled, a blissfully happy smile. 'As long as you're my wife, I'll never mind about anything ever again.'

As he took her in his arms again, and lowered his head for a kiss, Neela heard the creaking of the pipes and sounds of running water in the bathroom cease, meaning Ray was out of the shower. He would be out of the bathroom in a minute. A fleeting image of him as he would be when he stepped into the corridor crossed through her mind, thoughts completely independent of what she was standing there doing with Michael right then. She could see him in her mind's eye, towel dangerously low on his hips, and that awful sad, broken look on his beautiful face, and panicked at the leap of emotion her heart gave in response.

She had to get Michael out of there. Ray always wore his heart on his sleeve, there would be no way he would be able to hide his emotions if he saw Michael now, and to be honest, she wasn't sure if she could either. She still felt too raw, too exposed. 'Come on,' she said, tugging at his sleeve and forcing her face into what she hoped was a smile, 'let me grab my coat and we'll catch the El to work.'

He looked at his watch. 'Isn't it a bit early? I thought we could do a bit of wedding planning before we went.'

'We'll go and grab some breakfast,' she suggested, even though her stomach was churning with an uncomfortable cocktail of nerves and shame and guilt, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to face food again.

He seemed to like the idea. 'Sounds good to me.' He took her hand. 'Let's go.'

Ray waited in the bathroom until he heard Neela and Gallant leave. He could hear, although her fiancé obviously could not, the doubt and panic in her voice. He was utterly torn. He wanted her to be happy, and he knew, even if his brain, his heart, every organ in his sorry body, screamed at him not to, he would support whatever choice she made, but he couldn't help but think she was making the wrong one. What were they meant to do; pretend last night never happened? If it had been a regular one night stand, that really wouldn't have been a problem but it wasn't, he knew it wasn't. Last night had been something he had never experienced with anyone before, and he was so sure that Neela felt the same. He didn't know if he could stand there this afternoon and just watch as she signed that chance away.

He sighed. He got dressed and threw some half decent clothes in a bag for later, just in case his nerve held and he managed to turn up. He thought about going to work early – nothing else to do after all – and he certainly didn't want to stay in the apartment, haunted by flashbacks of not only their passion but every moment they had ever spent their together, every laugh, every smile, every lingering look, every disappointed glare. It felt like someone was ripping his heart out of his chest, but if he left now, he would be so close behind them he'd probably end up on the same train, and he could handle that even less. At least now there was no audience to his anguish here.

He put a pot of coffee on to kill some time. He wasn't quite sure why he went for coffee; he was most definitely a tea man, but there was something about the bitterness of a strong black coffee that suited his mood. He sipped at it, ignoring the way it burnt his tongue, relishing the feeling of the caffeine as it began to filter through his veins. If he wasn't allowed to bury his head under his pillow and sleep this whole damn day away, then he was going to do the next best thing, which was to work it away, as hard and as long as he could. And the night as well. Definitely the night. He didn't want to think about that at all.

The moment she arrived at work and saw Abby, Neela could tell that her friend knew there was something amiss. She'd managed to shake off Michael and his puppy dog enthusiasm at admit, leaving him talking to Frank and Jerry.

Abby took one look at her and dragged her into the lounge.

'Where were you last night? We were all waiting in Ike's but you never showed.'

'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said, trying to sound casual. 'By the time I'd caught up on my charts and I was ready to leave, I was absolutely exhausted, and I just couldn't face a night of tequila and partying.'

Abby looked at her shrewdly. 'You mean you couldn't face a night of celebrating.'

'Same thing,' Neela replied with feigned nonchalance, knowing it wasn't.

Abby called her out on that instantly. 'No it's not. So, where were you?'

'I just went home.' She avoided her friend's all seeing gaze, but knew it wouldn't be enough to throw her off the scent.

'Home to Ray?'

'Well, as I live with him, then yes, it is no great shock that I went home to Ray.'

Abby was beginning to lose her patience. She knew Neela had doubts, but doubts were natural. If it was anything more than that, it was important that Neela aired it now. Standing at the altar, with the eyes of the entire department on her was too late to realise she was making the wrong decision. 'Oh, for God's sake Neela, you know what I'm saying. What happened last night?'

'I went home, to Ray. That's all.' And suddenly her resolve hardened in the face of Abby's concern. If, when lying in Ray's arms, she still chose Michael, then that must be the right choice. She met Abby's eyes calmly, steadily. 'Nothing happened. Nothing that is going to stop me from marrying Michael. Today.'

She felt better hearing herself say the words. She was committed now, as much as if she already had his ring on her finger. She had been committed from the moment he had finally ground her down into saying yes.

Abby heard the change of tone, the new confidence. 'Neela, are you sure you know what you're doing? Do you even know this guy?'

'I know enough. I can get to know him. We've got the rest of our lives to find out, haven't we?'

'Neela, if you're in love with Ray, please don't marry Michael. It isn't fair on anyone.'

'I'm not in love with Ray,' she countered, the lie burning in her throat as she said it. 'I just… I want to get married to Michael and to be happy and…' Her voice faltered as her chin began to wobble and Abby saw tears spring to her eyes.

'Neela?'

'Please Abby. I know I can be happy with Michael. Just… let me, okay?'

Finally, seeing her friend's distress, Abby gave in and pulled Neela into a hug. Neela let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew Abby was the one person who had the power to talk her out of this if she took it into her head to try, and she felt a lot surer of herself with Abby's support.

'Of course sweetie. I'm with you every step of the way.'

'In that case, can I ask you something?'

'Go ahead.'

'Will you be my maid of honour?'

Everywhere Neela went, everyone seemed to be talking about the wedding. It was driving her crazy. Even in the middle of bloody surgery Dubenko had felt the need to bring it up. In _surgery _for God's sake. Why couldn't everyone mind their own damn business? If she wanted to get married, then she could do. She didn't have to answer to any of them, the bunch of wankers.

_Except Ray_, a niggling voice in the back of her mind told her. He had every right to ask questions of her, and every right to demand answers. She didn't deserve him, or Michael. She quickly quashed the whisper of her conscience, not even allowing herself to travel down that road. The more she thought about it, the more the icy fingers of doubt slid around her heart.

It hadn't helped that Michael had stuck to her like a burr to a woollen jumper all day, appearing over her shoulder at every turn. He was being so sweet, trying to organise everything while she worked, but it was getting to her. She had always been a great believer that a wedding was about _being _married, not _getting _married. All this fuss seemed so unnecessary. If she had it her way, they would slip off into the city, probably with Abby and Pratt as witnesses, and get married as quickly and quietly as possible.

_That way, no-one would have to witness her betrayal._

Because that's exactly what it was. It was a betrayal of Michael, this lovely, loving man who she was going to stand before, and _lie _to when she said that she knew of no reason why they shouldn't be married. It was a betrayal of Ray, who had offered her a home, not just a house, a _home_,and this unexpected, magnificent friendship that had completely knocked her for six. But most of all, it was a betrayal of herself, of how she felt so far inside herself that she didn't even realise until now that she had feelings that ran that deep.

If she married Michael she would be betraying her heart, but if she didn't marry him, she would be betraying something much more. All her life, she had always taken the safe option, done the right thing, made all her choices based on thinking things through and considering the positives against the negatives and always going for whatever was going to bring the most benefit, not really to herself, but to her family, her friends, her life, her career. She never paused to think about what she _wanted_ to do, only what she _ought _to do.

It was simple really. She _ought _to go to medical school. She _ought _to stick at it to pay for her brothers and sisters to university. She _ought _to marry Michael.

She _wanted… _

Ray buried himself in every trauma that came in, thanking his lucky stars it was a busy shift. Given the choice, he may not have chosen to be stuck in a room with Morris and Weaver while he, quite correctly, opposed her on every single treatment decision she made, but on the upside, the crippling tension meant that here, at least, no-one was talking about the wedding.

The wedding.

When, earlier, he'd seen Gallant stalking the corridors, he'd asked him oh so casually when the ceremony was. What, of course, he was really asking was; _is it still going ahead? Has she told you?_ To which the respective answers, judging by the soldier's happy, excited face, were, heartbreakingly, yes, and no.

He didn't know why he was still hoping Neela would change her mind. As he'd held her in her bedroom this morning, she had left him without a single doubt in either his aching head or his shattered heart that she wanted to marry Michael, but there was still something inside of him that couldn't accept it. That couldn't accept the truth.

_Or the lie. _

But he was going to have to. If he wanted her in his life at all, and he did, then friendship was going to have to be enough.


	5. A step at a time

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me so long to write another chapter of this; as you may have noticed I've been on a bit of a new fic splurge recently. Also, now my chapters for The End are hitting 10,000 words, that one is getting a little time consuming! But anyway, here you go, chapter five. I've got the next chapter for this all planned out, so hopefully there won't be such a long wait for the next one.

Ray hovered at the door, still in two minds as to whether or not he could actually sit there and watch this wedding without shouting from the rooftops exactly what had happened last night, and how he felt every time he so much as thought of Neela. He'd only gotten this far by taking it a step at a time.

The first step was clearing his patients from the board. He streeted most of them, and passed the rest to Clemente, even though he seemed more interested in chatting up the temp that had been brought in to cover for Jerry's absence during the wedding. That hadn't been too hard. It was only clearing patients after all; there was no harm in that, it was a process that he went through at the end of every single shift. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. Just because he'd cleared his patients, it didn't mean he had to go to the wedding.

After that, he went to his locker and got out his change of clothes. Looking at the blue shirt and smart-ish (the smartest he owned, anyway) black trousers for a little while, smoothing out as best he could a few of the creases that had accumulated, he tried to decide whether if he put them on, it meant he _had _to go to the wedding. He told himself it didn't. It was just a set of clean clothes. Putting them on didn't mean he _had _to go to the wedding.

Basically, he had tricked himself, step by step, as far as the doorway. Now though, the mind games he had been playing with himself were losing their effectiveness. Because if he walked through that door, he really was going to have to watch Neela, the girl he was _in love _with, get married. To someone else. He tried to reach out and grasp the door handle, but as he did so, an image of her last night flashed through his mind, and suddenly all he could see, smell, feel, was her. He remembered the way her beautiful body arched and stretched and rocked beneath his own, he remembered the way her hot breath tickled his skin, and worst of all, he remembered the way his heart had simply filled with emotion when she told him she loved him.

Groaning slightly, he turned away from the door. It was no good, he couldn't do this. He didn't trust himself to be able to let her go without protest. He might be betraying their friendship by not turning up, but the betrayal would be a lot worse if he blurted out what had happened between them in the middle of the ceremony, as he knew he might do. It was too big a risk.

He began to walk away when he heard voices approaching. With a sinking heart, he saw Morris and Chuny appear around the corner. 'Hey man,' Morris called out. 'Where you going?'

Ray had been hoping they wouldn't notice that he was actually walking away from the door, but Morris was inconveniently insightful at times. 'I umm… I figured there was still a bit of time to kill so I thought I'd go and check on my scooter versus truck guy that's in the ICU.' He tried to keep his voice casual, and as the suspicion passed from Morris and Chuny's expressions, he let out a silent sigh of relief.

'Well, we're here now. Party's starting. You coming in?' Morris looked back at him questioningly as he held the door open for Chuny.

Ray realised with a dull, cold certainty that he was utterly trapped. He'd managed to allay Morris's suspicions once, but any further refusal or hesitation was bound to cause the Chief Resident to sense something was amiss. Nailing a wooden smile to his face that he hoped looked less of a grimace than it felt, he stepped through the door.

'Of course Morris. Wouldn't miss this for the world.' He had been a lot of things before, but he never thought he'd be such an easy liar.

As Neela walked down the aisle she heard everyone start to hum "Here comes the bride". It was a nice gesture, and if she didn't feel so cold inside, she knew she would have been moved by it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ray craning his neck to try to see her, but she resolutely stopped herself from looking at him. She knew if she met those beautiful hazel eyes even now she'd be lost.

Michael was standing tall and proud at the altar, dressed in his full military gear. He turned and smiled at her like all his dreams were coming true, and she felt a little of the ice around her heart begin to thaw. He was truly lovely, and she knew she loved him. She came to a halt next to him, giving him a tentative smile, and he beamed back at her.

The nerves were churning in her stomach, but she guessed that was only to be expected. She felt Abby near her, and drew from her friend's quiet strength. It would be fine, just a few words they had to say, then she would be married, then it would all be all right.

She'd forgotten, of course, about the bit about if anyone knew of a reason they shouldn't be married. When Jerry asked the question, the tiny shred of calm she had managed to muster utterly dissipated. She froze to the spot, holding her breath.

There was a reason why they shouldn't be married, and she knew it. Last night, instead of revelling in the excitement of her forthcoming marriage, all she'd had the desire to do was be with Ray. To see his face and hear his laugh, and spend one last evening with her roomie. More than that though, to have him touch her and kiss her in all her most intimate places, and spend one night, first and last, with her roomie.

All she'd been able to think of, blindly, was Ray. Did that really make a good basis for marrying Michael? Should she really be doing this? Putting aside her feelings for Ray, which wasn't altogether easy in itself, perhaps Abby was right. She barely knew Michael. Sure, she knew he was good and kind and responsible, but she didn't _know _him. She didn't know what his favourite kind of movies were (old school horror flicks) or what sort of music he was into (rock all the way) or what kind of takeaway he preferred (pizza every time). She didn't know him like she knew _Ray_; that was what it came down to.

For God's sake Neela, she told herself, giving herself a mental shake, you have _got _to get over this. She'd already made her decision, she just had to stick by it. Besides, she had no choice. They were in a room full of their friends and colleagues. If she really did want to get out of this, she'd missed her chance. She couldn't say anything now.

Once she'd conquered her own feelings, she thought of Ray. Would he say something? In any other circumstance, she would have trusted him absolutely, but there was too much at stake here for him to just sit back and take this passively.

_Please don't say anything, Ray. Please don't say anything. _

They had always seemed to know each other's thoughts. She could hardly turn around and look at him, but she concentrated with every inch of her mind to transfer her plea to him.

In the silence that had followed, she knew it had worked, but she couldn't be happy that it had. Relieved, yes, but happy? Right now, she didn't feel like she'd ever be happy again, not in the way she had been last night. But she was definitely going to try to be.

Ray felt his throat constrict when he first caught a glimpse of her. She looked beautiful, utterly, indescribably beautiful. She was wearing a white sari that not only made her look fabulously exotic, but was also, in Ray's opinion, the perfect way to sum up her Indian heritage and her western outlook. He'd always thought she was hot, even when he first saw her, and when he got to know her, he thought of her as beautiful also, even first thing in the morning, with last night's make-up that she had been too tired to take off smudged over her face and hair sticking up at all angles, even at the end of a gruelling twelve hour shift, when she had bags under her eyes and stank of a day's worth of traumas. But it was nothing compared to how she looked now. She absolutely took his breath away. God, if Gallant _ever _did anything to hurt her…

She was standing at the altar now, looking nervous but, Ray thought, not unhappy to be there. Gallant was smiling down at her, and he thought he'd give anything for it to be him.

Then Jerry asked if anyone knew of a reason why they shouldn't be married, and he was suddenly forced to assess just what he would give for it to be him there. He could stop this now if he wanted. He knew all he had to do was say what had happened last night, and this sham of a wedding would be history. Neela would never be able to deny it, and even if she did, no-one would believe her. If it all came out, the upstanding Captain Gallant wouldn't want a lying, cheating wife. All right, so he might be on the receiving end of a bit of a beating, but it wouldn't be his first and God knew Neela was far more worth it than Zoë had been.

All he had to do was stick his hand in the air and start talking. It was just one more step, right?

Of course, that was the one step he couldn't take. To say something now would be to betray her absolutely, and there was no way he could do that. He could almost hear her begging him not to. He would give pretty much anything for it to be him, his career, his family, such as they were, a limb perhaps, but he _wouldn't _sacrifice their friendship. Like he had said as he held her in his arms this morning, she was his best friend, and he couldn't bear to lose her.

Which left him no choice but to keep quiet. The price that would be demanded from him otherwise was just too damned high. It didn't stop him from feeling like walking right out of there though, right out of the hospital and up the steps to the El station. It didn't stop him from feeling like throwing himself under the next train that came along.

By the time the reception was in full swing, he was over the worst of it. It had happened, she had actually gone through with it, and she was Mrs Michael Gallant. Strictly speaking, she wasn't, she was still going to be Doctor Rasgotra, but a set of signatures in a register and a band of gold around her finger proclaimed her to be Gallant's wife. It was now the usual departmental free-for-all that the offer of free food and drink always became. Someone had set up a limbo pole, which he would have refused steadfastly to be involved with even if he hadn't been feeling less like a party than at any point thus far in his entire life.

Occasionally, he cast an eye around to see what everyone was doing. Morris and Weaver were sitting together getting steadily more and more inebriated, while Abby and Luka were perched on stools at the bar, looking like they were in their own little world. Come to think of it, they had been looking like that a lot lately. Maybe there was something going on there.

Neela, he had been most purposefully _not _looking for. Without having to search, he knew exactly where she was though; she was sitting on Michael's lap over in the corner, sharing a plate of food and looking every inch the happy bride. Gallant looked like the cat that had got the cream. It hurt him beyond words to admit it, but they did look happy, content. Maybe Neela had made the right choice, only time would answer that. All Ray knew for sure was that he'd definitely made the right one in letting her choose.

As for himself, he fully intended to go back to work after everything was over, so he limited himself to only a couple of beers, despite his craving for tequila induced oblivion. He knew he probably shouldn't even have those two, but he had to have something to numb the pain, and besides, he could sleep for a while or something, until the alcohol passed from his system. He had spent most of the evening with Chuny. She was good for a laugh, and she was in a loud and lively mood, which kept him from thinking too much.

He was sitting next to her when Michael and Neela rose to the stage to say a few words. He didn't listen to what Gallant had to say. He couldn't pretend, even to himself, that he was interested. He kept his eyes fixed on Neela, hoping no-one noticed the heat in his gaze. Suddenly, her lips were moving, and he realised she must be saying something herself.

'And you can all come and visit me at work at seven o'clock tomorrow morning!'

Everyone laughed, but she didn't. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second – it was all he allowed himself – afraid of his reaction if he lingered longer, but it was enough. He raised his bottle to her, not to the happy couple, to her, and dipped his head in acknowledgement. A toast, he thought to himself, to what might have been if we hadn't been such cowards these last months. A toast to missed opportunities. A toast to the past.

The bouquet flew through the air in an ungraceful arc right towards him, but he made no move towards it. He'd leave that to the women. Besides, if he did catch it, well, it would just be adding insult to injury. Chuny scooped it up just before it hit the floor, and everyone cheered. He thought he heard his voice entering into the jollity as well, but he couldn't be sure.

When Neela and Michael were leaving, Chuny turned to him, and asked where they would be spending their wedding night.

He'd tried to answer casually, but he was barely able to keep the bitterness from his voice as he replied, 'my apartment.' He tried to cover it with a wry smile, and Chuny was polite enough to laugh, but he didn't think his little performance this evening had fooled anyone. He certainly hadn't fooled himself with it, and he doubted it had worked on Neela.

Suddenly, he felt a flash of anger. Good, he thought, I hope she does see what I'm going through. _I hope she understands what this is doing to me._


	6. Cold and Lonely

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: I've just realised, it's been a little while since I went through my round of habitual thank yous, so I'll say now, I am, as always, incredibly grateful for the time you take to read and review my stories. I know I've got quite a lot of stuff up here now, but every review I get is just as good as the very first one I received, so thank you, and please keep them coming. Because I've got so many stories on the go at the moment, whatever gets the most reviews is likely to get the most updates, so if you want more of this soon, click on that review button. It doesn't take a second, and even only a couple of words are great to hear. I'm currently watching Season 12 re-runs, which has proved really useful – I always envisaged this story as being what actually happened in the show, just with a massive undertone, so I'm quite pleased with the way it's going I think. I hope you agree.

Ray looked up at the clock on the wall, which told him it was quarter past two in the morning. He was exhausted. He'd had precious little sleep the previous night, for obvious reasons, and he'd been up at dawn anyway, then today, well, yesterday now he supposed, had been an emotional rollercoaster (consisting of one giant downward spiral) that had left him feeling utterly drained.

He decided he deserved some sleep. 'Clemente,' he called across to the attending, who was still flirting with the temp, 'I'm gonna go catch some shut eye. Wake me if you need me.'

'Sure thing,' he replied, without looking over at Ray.

He headed for the sofa in the doctor's lounge. He hated the damn thing. It had blatantly been manufactured for someone significantly shorter than he was, and had all the lumps and shot springs of something you would expect to find dumped in a backstreet alley. It invariably gave him a cricked neck or a bad back, but right then, the appeal of the blankness of sleep overcame the potential discomfort.

There was an itchy brown blanket over the back of it, and he kicked off his shoes and lay down, pulling it over himself. He lay his head down on the arm, which he quickly decided was incredibly uncomfortable, so he shucked off his lab coat and bundled it up, trying to make a bit of a pillow for himself in the absence of any cushions. He had a second go at settling down, and was marginally more comfortable, well, less in pain, than the first. That would have to do. He could have found a bed in an empty exam room, but there was more chance of being disturbed there, and he _really _didn't want to be disturbed.

He hadn't had to spend the night here at the hospital. The apartment of course was out, but after Michael and Neela left the wedding, and the party had been winding up, he'd found himself still sitting and laughing with Chuny. He'd only had those two beers, but he knew she'd been drinking all evening, though as far as he could tell, it hadn't had too much of an effect. When the room was empty, except for a couple of janitors beginning to clear up, and Morris and Weaver, slumped in a corner with a table full of beer and red wine bottles in front of them, Ray stood up and offered to get Chuny's coat. When he returned with it, he held it out for her to put her arms in like a gentleman should.

'Thank you Ray,' she had said.

'No problem. Would you like me to call you a cab or something?'

'It's all right, I'll find myself one.' Then she'd laid a hand on his arm. It was only a friendly gesture really, but he looked down at her quickly. 'What are you doing now?' she asked, and he wasn't entirely sure what her meaning was.

'Going back to work.'

'Because you have to or because you don't have anywhere else to go?' she enquired shrewdly.

The honest answer would have been a bit of both. He had to work, otherwise he might go crazy, but he really didn't have anyplace else to go. Instead of saying that, he'd shrugged non-commitally. 'Might as well do something.'

'Well, if you didn't want to go back to work…' She gave him a slow smile, and this time he understood her meaning clearly.

He thought about it. He had to say, he was tempted. Chuny was certainly attractive, if not entirely within the age range of women he usually pursued. She'd also been good company all evening. Whether she guessed what was swirling around in his head or not, she had kept him talking, kept him laughing, and his mood had not slipped quite as deeply into depression as he'd been expecting it to. If he was alone tonight, he'd be a lot worse than he was now. She'd also know it was a one off. He didn't imagine it would be anything more than that to her anyway. Hell, she might not even mind if he was gone by breakfast, which he knew in advance he would be.

He sighed heavily. He knew he couldn't do it though, he didn't know why he was even considering it. Carefully, and with a smile, he'd removed her hand from his arm. 'Come on, I'll call that cab for you.' She returned his smile, the smile of a friend, and he knew she'd understood.

A night of forgetfulness might help erase some of the more torturous images from his mind temporarily; he might even be able to sleep a little bit, but it wasn't the answer. It wouldn't make the pain go away, and come the morning, he'd just hate himself. Also, no doubt, as it was the hospital, everyone would get to hear about it, and that wasn't fair on Chuny either. It could make working together a nightmare. Plus, if word got back to Neela…

He didn't know why he was so worried about hurting Neela. She'd just got married for fuck's sake. That was in a completely different league to what he'd been contemplating. It wouldn't excuse sleeping with Chuny though. Neela might have broken his heart but he still couldn't do that to her. He thought of the look on her face as she heard, perhaps through Frank and Jerry gossiping at the admit desk, or maybe a gaggle of nurses, clearing up after a trauma digesting the latest bit of news. No, he wasn't that cruel.

But his moral stance did mean that he would be spending the night, cold and alone with unwelcome, unwanted dreams of the one woman he could no longer have. They began to plague him as soon as he fell to sleep.

The following morning on the way to work, Neela thought about last night. Michael had hurried her home, unsympathetic to her difficulty at running up a flight of steps and along a railway platform in high heels and a sari. They'd sat together on the El on their way home, but anyone looking at them wouldn't have guessed they were newlyweds, even with their elaborate attire. They hadn't spoken, touched, held hands, not even as much as looked at each other. As she'd stared out of the window, she'd wondered if Michael was suffering any regrets. For all she knew, he could have someone somewhere, a missed opportunity, a regret that would never be totally erased, like she did with Ray. If he did, she felt sorry for him. She wouldn't want anyone to feel the way she did right then. So torn, so unsure.

By the time they got as far as the apartment, things were a little better, and they'd laughed again as he'd unwrapped her from the yards and yards of material that was wound in many different ways around her body. But as she lay in his arms, she'd felt cold, the sort of cold that no increase in temperature can have the slightest diluting effect on. She'd felt cold still when she'd woken up this morning with his strong, chiselled arms around her, and when they'd taken a shower together, which should had been anything but cold. She even felt cold now, sitting on the El, twirling her wedding band round and around and staring out of the window at the city as it passed.

It was still ten to seven when she arrived at the hospital, so she decided she had time for a cup of coffee before she had to report for duty. She knew bets were being taken on how late she was going to be in today, or even if she turned up at all, so, determined to be early, she didn't stop on the street and buy one from the vendor there, but carried on inside, heading straight for the doctor's lounge.

As she stepped inside, her eyes strained to see through the darkness. The blinds were pulled down, and the lights were off, creating a dim, uncertain world inside the room. Looking around, she soon saw why. Curled up on the sofa, entirely covered by a blanket, head and all, was a sleeping body. She didn't need the battered old pair of vans lying messily on the floor to tell her who it was.

She went over to the side where the tea and coffee things sat, and along with a coffee for herself made a cup of tea, hot and strong, no milk, with a dollop of honey. Quietly, she knelt by the sofa and peeled back the blanket.

'Ray, Ray wake up,' she said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder. She looked at him as he lay there, the sad look on his face now a million miles away from how he had looked yesterday morning before she had… She wished she could do something to make that sorrow go away for ever.

Neela had danced and spun through his dreams all night. He had lost count the number of times he had woken fitfully, turning over hoping to see her, knowing he wouldn't. And now he could hear her voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes. This time, she was there.

'Morning,' he said croakily. She held him out a cup of tea and he took it gratefully, noting it was exactly how he liked it. 'Thank you,' he muttered.

He sat up, wincing slightly as he straightened his limbs and worked a crick out of his neck.

'You could have come home last night, Ray,' she said.

'No I couldn't,' he replied quietly. 'And you know it, so don't say that I could.' His tone wasn't angry, just honest.

'I'm sorry.'

He turned his face away from her, making it clear he didn't want to hear her apologies. If she wasn't sorry enough to change her mind, then it didn't really matter to him.

They were quiet for a little while after that. Neela picked up her coffee and sat on the sofa next to him, but keeping her distance. She chanced one look across at him, and saw him staring blankly into his tea.

'Ray…' she began. There was so much she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him that for all her feelings, she genuinely believed marrying Michael was the right thing, the best thing to do, and if she could have done it without hurting him, she would have done anything to make sure she didn't cause him any pain. She wanted to tell him that she'd never met anyone like him before, that she thought he was a beautiful and caring person and he deserved someone far more worthy of him than plain, boring old her.

But she didn't say any of it. Instead, she focused on practicalities. She couldn't find the courage for anything more than that. 'Ray, Michael and I are going to be looking for a place together, of course, but is it okay if we stay at the apartment in the meantime?'

Finally, he looked at her, and she saw the surprise in his eyes that she should think to ask. 'Of course you can,' he answered. 'It's your place as much as mine.'

He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to say that it was going to be bad enough having to see her at work every day, knowing that he could never be with her in the way he wanted to be, and that going through it at home as well would almost certainly kill him. But he didn't.

Her deep dark eyes were narrowed at him shrewdly and he knew she knew what he was thinking. 'I won't stay there if it means you'll be sleeping on this sofa every night Ray. That wouldn't be fair.'

He sighed. 'I won't,' he promised wearily. It wasn't a promise he thought he would be keeping, but God knew he was getting quite good at lying. He did it every time he told her, told himself, and told every other nosey bastard out there who he knew was watching him, waiting for a reaction, that he was okay. He lied every damn time he pretended that losing her wasn't breaking his heart.

Neela sensed there was something amiss. He had given in too easily, not put up a fight at all. It was as if there was no fight left in him. 'Ray, is still being friends going to be a problem for you?' He didn't answer, and she went on. 'I need to know Ray. I need to know whether or not you're going to tell anyone.'

She didn't know, even now, if she wanted her secret to be discovered or not. If it wasn't, then she had a clear path to building a happy marriage with Michael, a good life for herself, just as she'd always wanted. But if it was, if either she or Ray broke down and the truth came tumbling then, it would spell disaster, but at least the lies would be over, and the crippling burden of deceit and betrayal wouldn't be eating away at her every second of the day and night, as it was now.

Ray stared at his tea again, for a long time. He wanted to tell the world how he felt about her, he wanted everyone to know that the great Ray Barnett had changed. And he wanted them to know it was Neela that had changed him. But he had promised her. He had promised her that their friendship meant more to him than anything, and that had been the one thing he'd said over these last couple of days that hadn't been a lie. She was his best friend, he couldn't do anything to jeopardise that.

Carefully, he took her hand. A flash of nerves at what he might to do next appeared in her eyes, but his touch, light and platonic though it was, was too good to pull away from. He looked at her earnestly. 'I won't tell anyone,' he said solemnly. 'I understand what is at stake for you, for both of us, and Gallant too. You can trust me Neela.'

She believed him, but she had to make sure. 'I mean no-one Ray. Not even people outside of work, like Brett and Nick, or people that we know we can trust, like Abby.'

'I know.' He gave her hand a brief squeeze, as much as he dared. '_You can trust me Neela_.'

And as she looked into his hazel eyes, sad and intense, she knew that even though she didn't deserve it in the slightest, she could indeed trust him. That was what friends were for.


	7. Jamaican sunshine

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: I've now seen almost all of Season Twelve now (although actually missed 21 Guns as we were having a new TV delivered when it was on, but never mind, now I get to watch ER on widescreen!) so I'd like to crack on with this story, but additional updates will come at the detriment to my other stories, so let me know what you most want to see. Thank you as always for the reviews, and may I refer you to my request for help I've noted in my profile – unless you answer, you won't be getting another chapter of The End for a while as I'm at a blank with it.

Neela lay stretched out on a sun lounger, wearing a black bikini and basking contentedly in the Jamaican sunshine. _Well, as contentedly as she ever was these days. _She revelled in the feel of the warmth on her skin, a million miles from the freezing Chicago winter in every way.

She and Michael were on their honeymoon, and three days in, she was finally beginning to relax just a little, and let some of the troubles and worries that she was carrying around with her fade away. Without constant reminders of Ray everywhere she turned, she was finding it a little easier, only a little of course, but it was something, to enjoy spending time with her new husband, just the two of them, in these gorgeous, luxurious surroundings. The hotel was beautiful, the food good, the sun hot and the ocean crystal clear. If only she could kick the stomach virus she seemed to have picked up – the local water or something obviously didn't agree with her – then she might actually enjoy herself.

She and Michael had left Chicago on Christmas Eve, and although the thought of two weeks without seeing Ray made her feel more desperate than she knew it should do, she had been glad to get away from things for a while. Living in the apartment, all three of them together, had been crushingly awkward, although Michael didn't seem to have noticed that there was anything wrong. But then, she reasoned, he was on cloud nine, too happy to notice anything much. She'd half expected Ray to get himself back on opposite shifts, but when she realised that would mean he'd be spending great swathes of time in the apartment just with Michael while she was at work, she understood why he hadn't. It meant that they had all been spending too much time together, and the tension, for her and Ray at least, was unbearable.

Ray hadn't, thank God, been about to wave them off for their honeymoon though. He was still stuck at the hospital; she'd managed to get off early by winning a silly little game of rock, paper, scissors that Luka had initiated to let one of the residents go home. When she'd laid her hand over Ray's – the first physical contact they'd had since the morning in the lounge when he'd taken her hand and promised her, so earnestly, that she could trust him – she had felt her breath catch in her throat as the electricity jumped between them. She knew he felt it too by the way he had withdrawn his hand and turned away to walk off much sooner than he would have done a short time ago. Putting the thrilling sensations he set coursing through her by a simple touch to the back of her mind, she had dashed off home to pack. She'd called him, on his cell, just before she'd left, and left him a message on his answerphone to wish him a happy Christmas and a jokey warning that he'd better not trash the place while she was gone.

The fact that she'd waited until Michael had taken the bags out to the waiting taxi to make the call was irrelevant, it really was. It wasn't as if she'd said a single thing that couldn't be said in front of her husband or a crowd of ten thousand people. It had been an entirely innocent message. What was less innocent perhaps, was the deep need she'd had to hear his voice. Knowing he was at work and wouldn't answer, she had listened, holding her breath, as the call was diverted to answer phone and she heard his recorded message, '_Hey there, this is Ray Barnett, sorry I can't take your call, guess I'm busy. Leave me your name and number, and I'll call you back. Possibly. Unless you're a record producer, in which case I'll definitely call you._' Then there was a long beep and she thought she'd better say something, else he'd be left with a slightly creepy, stalkerish silence. Even if she hadn't said anything, she knew he'd still know it was her though.

Christmas Dinner with Michael's parents, which had filled her with trepidation; Michael had had to practically drag her up the garden path, hadn't been as bad as she'd expected it to be. Mr, no, Colonel Gallant, who had insisted she called him "Dad", had been so proud of his son, and interested in Neela, where she was from, what her family did, her career and all those sort of things, while Mrs Gallant had been warm and friendly, instantly making her feel at home in her new family. It was a shame she'd been feeling a little off colour while she was there though. She'd been headachey and nauseous a couple of times, just as she'd been so far in Jamaica, so maybe the water wasn't at fault after all. Probably some bug she'd picked up in the ER before she'd left; the place was so full of viruses floating around that it was a bloody wonder they didn't get ill more often.

She turned over onto her stomach for a little while to let her back see the sun. Resting her head on her arms, she felt a feeling of sleepiness wash over her, and she let herself be swept away by it. As she drifted slowly into sleep, images of Ray filled her mind, as they were wont to do. The mock outraged look as she'd thrown a snowball at him last Christmas, the genuine smile when she'd given in to his persuading and agreed to live with him, and all the moments they'd had since, as roomies, right up until…

When she was awake, she could usually keep thoughts of that night at bay, even though sometimes it required every ounce of her concentration to do so. They might be doing something like working a trauma together, or making a cup of coffee or an equally mundane task, and she would find herself watching his hands, thinking of the way they had gripped her body, skimmed over her flesh, and touched her in ways she didn't think she'd ever been touched before or would be again. But then she'd feel a deep blush work its way up her neck to her face, and she would slam shut that door in her mind, and that would be that. When she was asleep however, there was no impulse, no reflex there to shut that door, and she found herself reliving every moment of their time together, feeling all over again the pressure of his hands, his lips, his body against her own.

Last night, she'd been moaning in bed when Michael had woken her. He'd gently shaken her awake by the shoulder and when she finally came back to reality, she realised with a start it was her husband staring down at her, eyes full of concern. She stared at him, confused for a moment. It genuinely hadn't been who she was expecting to see there, so caught up in her dream had she been.

'Are you all right?' he asked, and she tried not to be mad at him for interrupting her dream. In some ways, she was glad he had; it wasn't a dream she should be having. 'You sounded like you were having a nightmare.'

A nightmare? Was it a nightmare to have Ray's practised lips run over her skin? Travelling down her throat, following a path between her breasts, nipping with his teeth and caressing with his tongue as he went, then further, across her stomach, a strong hand moving to hook itself behind her knee, the other grasping her hip, ready. Then in her dream, just as he was on the verge of plunging his tongue where she _needed _it to be, a hand on her shoulder and an insistent voice breaking into her dreamworld, shattering it before the imagined, longed for waves of ecstasy did.

'Was I?' she sat up, pretending to be confused to hide her ragged breaths, wide pupils, and the fact that, right at that moment, she wanted to wring her husband's neck for interrupting her perfect dream. 'I don't remember.'

'You were crying out, moaning something, but I couldn't make out what you were saying.'

'Oh,' she'd said simply, unable to think of anything else. 'Well, I'm fine now.'

But she hadn't been fine, not really, and when a little later, Michael's lips had done all the things she had imagined Ray's doing, she felt her body reacting, stimulated, but there was no overwhelming consumption of mind, body and soul, like she had known with Ray. All she could do was lie there, biting her lip, making sure she didn't cry out the name that was on the tip of her tongue in spite of herself.

This time though, her dream was different. She saw Ray standing there, alone, a look of indescribable sadness on his face. This Ray in her dreams said what she knew the Ray in the real world now never would.

'_I love you Neela._'

She wished she could hear the words for real. She knew she had signed away any right to, but it didn't stop her wishing. Michael said them a hundred times a day, but it didn't move her in the same way her dream did. She wished so much that they did, but however hard she tried, however much she opened her heart to her husband, she couldn't leave thoughts of Ray behind. All she could really hope for, she guessed, was that in time it would get easier.

She woke with a start; she didn't know how long she had been asleep, but the sun had moved and it was now high in the sky, so she guessed it must be nearly noon. She eased herself up from the lounger and rolled over to sit up and take in her surroundings. She was relaxing by the hotel pool, surrounded by lush palms and a thatch roofed bar; Michael was off doing watersports all day, jetskiing and the like. He'd wanted her to go as well, but that kind of thing really wasn't her scene, so she'd eventually persuaded him that she didn't mind him going off without her. In hindsight, it was just as well she hadn't gone actually – if she was feeling sick now, what would she feel like if she was out on the water?

This nausea was getting ridiculous. If it didn't clear up soon, she'd have to find a doctor or a clinic somewhere and get some medication for it. Her stomach was churning again, so she gathered up her things from the poolside and, wrapping her sarong around herself, she hurried back to their hotel room. As she stood impatiently in the lift, she felt the bile begin to rise in her throat and she swallowed it down determinedly, wincing. As soon as she reached the third floor and the doors pinged open, she ran along the corridor, fumbling to get the door unlocked. She skidded to a halt in the bathroom and bending over the toilet, she promptly lost the breakfast she had been battling to keep. Clutching at her stomach, she retched painfully, screwing her face up against the taste and smell. Even after her stomach was empty, she still heaved dryly a couple more times, unable to stop.

She flushed the toilet, and stood up slowly, wiping her mouth on a flannel that was hanging next to the sink. Gripping tightly at the sides of the black marble sink to support herself, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale and gaunt, which she supposed was down to having not eaten properly for a while, because whatever she tried invariably brought on this nausea. It hadn't been this bad before though. Every morning so far this week, she'd…

And then she realised. She was constantly nauseated, over emotional, moody. It could only mean one thing. As a doctor, she really ought to have known sooner she thought, all this nonsense about viruses and bad water. Then she didn't have time for any further thoughts, as her stomach rebelled again, as if to confirm her diagnosis.

_She was pregnant._


	8. Chicago winter

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: All right folks, about time for the review rate to pick up, methinks! (Yes, I know I'm being cheeky, but the weather is grim and I'm bored, and I need cheering up!) Thank you for all the reviews I have received, they are much appreciated as always, but I think you can do better, in fact, I know you can, so please click on that little button. Writing is so much more enjoyable when I get to hear what you think of it. I'm trying to bowl through the chapters with this one a bit now, because I can't wait to get on to writing the later stuff, around when she moves out, with this slant to it.

When Neela once again regained control over her body, she staggered through to the bedroom with weakened knees and collapsed onto the bed, thanking God that Michael was out for the day and wouldn't be back for hours yet. She needed some time, she needed to think.

_Pregnant._

She said the word to herself out loud, trying to come to terms with the reality. She laid an ever so slightly trembling hand over her stomach, trying to imagine what was inside. A baby. She was going to have a baby. There was an actual living person growing inside her. Years of medical training didn't make it feel like any less of a miracle, but it wasn't a miracle she had thought she would be experiencing for a long time.

They hadn't talked about children yet. She knew Michael would definitely want them to start a family, probably sooner rather than later, but she had it set out in her mind already that she didn't want a baby at least until after she had finished her residency. She was an R2 now, so in another couple of years, perhaps it would be on the cards. But not now, not yet. This just shouldn't be happening. It wasn't how things were meant to be.

Not that her little plan was relevant now. None of it mattered. It was too late, and every plan she had ever made had just been completely blown out of the water. Her entire life was about to change in every way imaginable, and everything that she'd thought she was on the verge of getting straight in her head was all screwed up. She didn't know what to do.

_Because there was absolutely no possibility that this baby was Michael's._

It was a horrible, terrible thing to contemplate, but she knew that it had to have been her night with Ray that had led to this. She and Michael were always so careful, always using a condom and never leaving anything to chance. It wouldn't be fair to say that sex between them was sanitised, clinical, because it wasn't like that at all, it was passionate and loving, but it wasn't… wild or reckless or uninhibited. It wasn't something that took you over so overwhelmingly that you didn't have a chance to think about condoms or being careful or doing the right thing.

When she'd been with Ray, she'd needed him _so _much that they hadn't even made it to the bed to begin with, let alone been concerned about protection. When she'd made love to him, because that's what it was, love, even though it started out as a rough screw against a wall from which, even now, she had a couple of bruises that she'd had to hide or explain away, she hadn't had room for anything in her lust-clouded mind except her burning, all consuming desire for _him. _Even when, later, he had thought to reach for a condom, she really hadn't cared when there weren't any. She wanted to feel him, to really feel him with no barrier at all between their bodies.

She'd got her wish, but oh boy, now she was paying for it in the worst way imaginable. She felt a feeling of panic begin to emanate out, from the pit of her already churning stomach, coursing through her entire body.

_Pregnant._

She was pregnant with Ray's child. Not her husband's, kind, sweet, caring Michael. Her roommate's. Ray Barnett was unreliable, irresponsible, years away from possessing the sufficient maturity to be a father, but she was in love with him. It was something she had been denying vehemently for a long time, long before she'd executed her biggest act of denial by standing there, his intense gaze burning into her, and marrying another man. But now, the denial had to stop. She had to tell him.

She began to reach for her cellphone, then a little of the fog cleared from her mind and she stopped herself. She couldn't just call Ray up and tell him that she was having his baby. She needed to tell him in person, face to face. She wanted to be able to see his reaction, and even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself, there was a little part of her that held a tiny, foolish hope that she would be able to reveal her secret and fall into his open arms.

It wasn't going to be like that though. It couldn't be. She wasn't sure if she was even going to be able to find the words when she was standing there, looking into his concerned hazel eyes. This wasn't the sort of thing you could tell someone over the phone, not when you weren't going to see that person for nearly a fortnight because you were on honeymoon with your husband.

Her husband.

Did Michael deserve to be told first? Yes. Well, he deserved to be told that she was leaving him first, but she couldn't tell him about the baby before Ray knew about it. That wouldn't be fair either.

She put her head in her hands, feeling a sob rising in her throat. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so _bloody irresponsible_? Getting pregnant was not the sort of thing Neela Rasgotra did, simple as that. What had gone wrong? How had her life gone so awry that she was sitting in a hotel room, waiting for her husband to return while crying over her tattooed, guitar playing roommate and the atrocious mess she had managed to make of her life?

What if Ray didn't want her, she suddenly thought. What would happen if she left Michael and Ray ran a mile, just as she had feared he would on all the occasions she could have given in to him and didn't? What would she do then? She wasn't worried about being left with nothing; that was no more than she deserved after what she had done, but how would she look after a baby? There was no way she could bring up a child on her own, on a resident's salary and schedule. But if she couldn't do it, then she'd have to…

And the idea of aborting Ray's baby was just… It made her feel even more nauseous than she did already. It was obviously the most practical option, but she didn't think she could do it. And that of course, opened up a whole additional round of questions. If that was what she was planning, then Ray deserved a say in it, in which case she'd have to tell him, and everything would fall apart anyway.

At an utter loss as to what to do, Neela lay her aching head down on the bed, and cried. She cried for Michael, who deserved so much more than what she had brought to the marriage, she cried for Ray, who she had used and hurt thoughtlessly, even though causing him pain caused herself even more. But most of all, she cried for her own sorry self, and the loss of the person she had thought she had been. Right now, she felt like she didn't know herself at all.

Back in Chicago, Ray had managed to get away from the hospital at a time vaguely similar to the end of his shift, which was nothing short of a miracle after the day it had been. It had been an endless stream of traumas, and he was exhausted. The only saving grace he was finding recently of days like those was that he didn't have time to breathe, let alone think, and that was the way he liked it. He was beat now though, and he would like nothing more than to crawl into his warm, soft bed, and bask in the oblivion of sleep.

It was an impossible dream however. Since he had shared his bed with Neela, he found it difficult to sleep in it without suffering constant flashbacks and dreams about what had happened there. Every time he closed his eyes, he was plagued by images of her, the way her dark hair fanned out against his white pillows, the way she had looked at him with a soporific smile, and the thrill he'd felt knowing that _he _was the reason she was tired out. Last night, in desperation, he'd had a go at catching some kip on the sofa in the lounge, but from there, he could see the spot in the corridor that they'd… And once he thought about that, there was no sleep to be had there either.

He'd considered getting Abby or Pratt to write him out a script for some sleeping pills, but knowing them and their damn thoroughness, they would want to know why he wasn't sleeping, why he was desperate enough to want medication for it, and there was no way he could tell them about any of it, so he'd go for the old failsafe, beer and plenty of it. She had only been married a couple of weeks, and already he was beginning to wonder how his liver was going to stand up to the distinctly heavy workload he was sending its way. He wasn't quite sure how that boded for the rest of his life, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be good.

The insomnia and loneliness had been even worse since she'd been away on honeymoon. Of course it was a relief that he wasn't forced every day to witness the happiness of the newlyweds, but he missed her so much. He would never have believed the hurt of not seeing her at all would be worse than the hurt of seeing her with her husband, but it really was. He had actually begun to think that even just seeing her smile and hearing her laugh would be enough, and hang the rest of it. The place, small and messy though it was, felt horribly empty without her and her own, distinctive brand of organised chaos. He didn't want to be able to buy whatever kind of milk he wanted; he wanted her and her skim rubbish and cereal that tasted of cardboard to be standing in the kitchen of a morning. He didn't want to be able to bring back any girl he wanted; the only one he wanted and would ever want again was one thousand seven hundred and sixteen miles away and wouldn't be coming home for another week and a half. Also, he didn't want to be such a pathetic, lovesick idiot, but he knew there was no escape.

He could escape from the apartment though. Tucking his chin down into his scarf and coat, against the freezing December night, he plucked his cellphone from his pocket. He scrolled a little way through his contacts, and, arriving at the name he was looking for, pressed the green call button.

'Dude.'

'Hey man, how're you doing?' Ray asked his friend.

'Not too bad man, not too bad at all,' Brett replied. 'To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of hearing your sorry voice?'

'Charming,' Ray said sardonically. 'Just wondered if you wanted to go out and grab a couple of beers?'

'Why? Doctor Neela got plans, has she?' All of Ray's friends had noticed that over the last months, he had increasingly been seen out less and less frequently, often making excuses that more often than not included the name of his, in Brett's opinion, extremely hot, roommate.

Ray sighed, biting back an angry retort that he knew his friend would pick up on only too quickly. When he wasn't drunk or, on occasions, stoned, Brett had a habit of being annoyingly intuitive. Instead, he managed to squeeze out, as casually as he could muster, 'Neela is on her honeymoon, as well you know. Quit stirring Brett.'

'Only having a bit of fun.' Ray could almost see him shrugging carelessly on the other end of the line. 'So what did you have in mind for these "couple of beers" then? A wild night of partying filled with as many potent alcoholic combinations as are known to mankind, and as many beautiful women as we can find?'

'I've just left work after a monster shift, so I was kinda thinking more Ike Ryan's,' Ray suggested hopefully. He might be pretending to be okay, but there was nothing in the world that appealed to him less than one of his and Brett's usual infamous nights out.

Brett sighed. He never thought he'd see the day when the great Ray Barnett was hung up on a girl, but boy, did he have it bad now. 'Whatever you want dude. I'll meet you at Ike's as soon as.'

Ray already had the first round waiting on the bar when Brett arrived. He paused briefly in the doorway to study his friend. He had seen him a couple of times since the wedding, for band practises and stuff – now never at Ray's place – but this was the first time they'd been around each other since Neela went on honeymoon, and he couldn't believe just how dejected Ray looked. It was as if it hadn't all been real for him up until now, and once she'd left, it had all hit him. Brett didn't like to think what he'd be like when Neela actually moved out.

'Hey man,' he called out, stepping towards the bar and jumping onto a tall stool. 'Are you keeping all that beer for yourself or were you planning on sharing?' Ray handed him a bottle. 'Cheers,' Brett said, taking a long swig.

'No worries.'

They drank in silence for a short while, and Brett made the most of the opportunity to decide whether or not Ray wanted to talk about what was going on. Normally, he would have abided by his strict code of minding his own business, but he'd never seen him like this before.

As Ray drained the bottle and caught the bartender's attention to get another, Brett eventually decided he had to say _something_, even though emotions and feelings and crap like that was way out of his remit.

'Look, you miss her, I get that, but –'

'Do you?' Ray snapped at him, a little more aggressively that he had intended his words to come out. 'Do you honestly have _any idea _how I feel right now?' He slammed the beer bottle down on the bar for emphasis.

Brett held up his hands defensively. 'Dude, at least _I _kissed her. You've been moping after her for how long and done nothing about it. Speaking as a friend, it's time you snapped out of it.'

Ray felt his blood boil irrationally at the thought of Brett having kissed Neela. He felt worse still with the knowledge that he had pushed her into it, persuading her that Brett was a good guy. He didn't know why he had done something so stupid. Why hadn't he just told her that _he _wanted to kiss her, himself?

Then the surge of anger passed as soon as it arrived when he thought, almost with a brief chuckle, that Brett was hardly competition. She was married. As in forever. She was permanently off the market, permanently on a shelf that was always going to be just out of his reach. He was never going to be able to realise all the dreams and fantasies he was so foolishly clinging on to. Maybe Brett was right.

Maybe he just needed to get real, and snap out of it.


	9. Panic

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: I'm _really_ getting into this story now (it's taken me a while) so I hope you are too. Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter; lots of you reviewed so I feel all nice and enthusiastic about it again! I'm on holiday for a week now, but will be back writing again soon.

Despite all his resolutions, by the time Ray returned to the apartment, he still had Neela swirling through his mind. He knew he couldn't just… forget. He'd never be able to forget. All he could hope was that in time, he'd learn to live with it.

It didn't help that Brett spent half the evening trying to get a rise out of him. After his angry outburst, Ray had quickly reined in his temper. Brett was too sharp for Ray to be able to keep much from him, and he knew that if the questioning or the sympathy continued there was a very real risk that the whole story would come tumbling out and he knew he couldn't allow that to happen. He had promised her, after all.

So to throw Brett of the scent, he had been determindedly casual about it all. After looking at him slightly curiously, Brett had obviously decided maybe it was okay to joke about it after all, and had spent most of the rest of the night questioning Ray's sexuality, as 'how could you live with someone as hot as Doctor Neela and _not _jump her?'

He put up with it for as long as he could, until he felt his fingers begin to curl into a fist, and he knew he had to leave, or his friend would be getting a black eye. He'd drained the dregs of his bottle and set it down on the bar.

'Look, I'm beat. I'm gonna head home.'

Brett pulled a disappointed face, but in fact he felt a little guilty that he had clearly pushed Ray too far. He wasn't fooled by his display of nonchalance, but he was a great fan of using humour in as many situations as was appropriate, and some where it wasn't, and had been trying to get Ray to laugh at himself a bit. He'd been too serious for his own good lately; he needed to lighten up some. It couldn't do any harm, he thought. By the look of it, it hadn't done any good either.

'Aw, come on, stay. We'll call up the others and hit the town. You need a decent night out man. You're working too hard and thinking too much these days.' He tried nudging him encouragingly, but Ray glowered at him, and he backed off.

'No really,' Ray said tightly. 'I'm off.' He moved towards the door.

'I'll shut up about Neela,' Brett offered, hoping his friend would stay. He missed Ray. He hadn't seen or spoken to the old Ray Barnett for a long time; when he'd called him earlier and said he wanted to grab a beer together, he had thought, just for a second, he might be back.

'Night Brett,' Ray called out flatly, over his shoulder without looking back.

Now he was home, he kind of wished he'd stayed. He thought of all the times he and the band, and assorted, usually female, others, had partied all through the night here, the rooms alive with chatter and music and beer. Things were so much simpler then. He hadn't felt like his brain was being eaten away by torturous thoughts that he couldn't help but have, and he'd been able to leave work and actually feel up for going to a bar and picking up a girl and having some fun, which he did on a regular basis. God, Neela must have wanted to kill him sometimes, the crap he gave her.

Tonight, everything was absolutely silent, and it was bearing down on him, filling his mind. He'd give anything for her to be here, even to have her shouting at him for whatever had pissed her off that time. It was quiet and dark and lonely without her, but he knew he was going to have to get used to it.

When she and Gallant returned from their honeymoon, they would be starting in earnest to look for somewhere else to live. Every single time he came home from work, whether it was first thing in the morning after a deadly dull night shift, or late in the evening after a hell of a day, it would be to this cold, empty lifelessness. Part of him thought it would be a good idea to get another roommate; he didn't really need the extra help with the rent anymore, he would be an R3 soon and his salary was rising accordingly, but it would be someone to come home to, someone to fill the space a bit. On the other hand, he didn't think he could bear to see another person, someone who wasn't her, sitting where she used to sit, and walking where she used to walk. Someone else's stuff in _her _bedroom and no coconut shampoo stinking out the bathroom. No, he didn't want that either.

What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was for her to stay. For Gallant to magically disappear off the edge of the map and for him and Neela to be able to fall back into their happy little world that they had made for themselves in this apartment. For everything that had happened since he woke up that morning and she broke his heart to go away with a wave of a wand. _What he wanted was her._

He'd never been in love before, but rumour had it that supposedly, it was quite nice, but so far, Ray thought he would be severely disinclined to agree with the general consensus. As far as he was concerned, it was shit and it hurt, and it was turning him into someone he didn't even recognise anymore. This new him was insecure and needy, and he didn't like it one bit.

He was vaguely aware that over these last months that they had been living together, he had changed and he was sure it was down to her. He was no longer itching to get away from work dead on the end of every shift, happy to get rid of his patients in whatever way was easiest so he could head out to get drunk or practise with the band. He knew he was now on the way to becoming the caring, conscientious doctor he knew he could be if he put his mind to it, and it was obvious to everyone that it was her influence that had sparked the change.

He just wished it didn't make him feel so damn vulnerable. The old invincible him was gone, and Ray didn't know how to bring him back. Well, he did. He would have to give up on Neela if he wanted to return to his old self, but try as he might, he knew that that was the one thing he couldn't do.

He didn't have much to cling on to, but he wasn't going to let go of what he did have. She'd told him she loved him. She might have lied about it later, but he knew that those words, when she had uttered them, were absolutely true. And for as long as there was the slightest chance she'd one day realise that, then he wouldn't give up. He'd be right here, waiting.

Neela looked at her watch, biting her lip with worry. Michael should be back soon. It was nearly five o'clock, and he said he'd be back in time to take her for early evening cocktails.

Oh god, cocktails. How was she going to get through that? He'd think she'd gone mad if she ordered a non-alcoholic cocktail. Well, maybe one drink wouldn't do the baby any harm. But she couldn't be sure, could she? All the research that had been done wasn't conclusive, so she didn't know what terrible damage she might do if…

She'd been going through these spirals of terror all afternoon. Every thought she had seemed to spark some horrendous difficulty that she would have to get past. So far she'd panicked about how maternity leave might affect her residency, the fact she hadn't been taking folic acid, how she was going to get through the day without her obligatory half a dozen cups of coffee, what her parents were going to say, and whether or not she wanted to find out what sex it was before it was born.

Even though most of the things she thought of were relatively small and unimportant issues compared to the bigger picture, each time she thought of something she felt her heart constrict in terror and her mind began to run away with every possible scenario that she could think of. She supposed it was her brain's way of trying to avoid the real issue, which was that she was married to Michael and having Ray's baby, and couldn't see a single way of extricating herself from the situation she had found herself in without hurting two of the people she loved most in the world.

After her earlier bout of tears, she had pulled herself together, as far as she was able, and got dressed. Having managed to achieve that without throwing up again, which was quite a challenge, she made her way down to the hotel shop, hoping it had what she was looking for. After a furtive search, she was forced to ask at the girl behind the counter.

'Umm… do you, umm, sell p-pregnancy tests here?' she asked in a tiny voice.

'Sorry honey, we don't. There's a store a couple of blocks away that will have them. Out of here and turn left, then straight along there.'

'Thank you,' she said, almost in a whisper.

Her weakened legs had just managed to take her to the store as described, where she stood in front of the shelf displaying the pregnancy tests. She read the back of each packet in turn, trying to work out which one might be best. They all sounded the same to her; this was much easier in the hospital when all you had to do was send a sample to the labs and you knew that the answer you got was going to be the correct one. She'd sent off hundreds of samples for pregnancy tests in her time, and now it was herself, her own life, she had to rely on some pathetic plastic stick.

Sighing in frustration, she grabbed half a dozen packets, each a different brand, and took them all to the paydesk. The woman there gave her an odd look, but a stony glare prevented her from asking any unwanted questions.

She was sitting now, on the side of the bath, with all six of them lined up next to her. Each and every one of them showed a positive result. She'd tried them all, one after the other, hoping against hope that just one of them would come up negative, but none did. She felt her heart sink a little further each time. Even though deep down she had known that she was pregnant, she hadn't quite abandoned her hope of a stomach virus until she saw those two blue lines confirming her suspicions. The multiple pairs of blue lines had left her in no doubt whatsoever.

She still didn't know what to do. Not that she expected everything to be clear and straightforward and easy, of course it wasn't going to be that, but she just felt… lost, clueless. Almost, numb really. She needed someone to talk to desperately, but there wasn't anyone. There wasn't a single person she could turn to.

She didn't have all that many friends in Chicago, not really. There were people from work of course, but she had sworn to Abby that nothing had happened between her and Ray that would stop her from marrying Michael, and now she was trapped into that lie. She could hardly tell Pratt, and people like Sam and Chuny she didn't feel close enough to to pour out her darkest secrets. Not that she would confide in anyone from County, that would be too much of a risk. And out of County… well, she drew a blank there.

Just then, she heard the door handle turn, and she looked at the tests in panic. Michael mustn't find out, not yet. He would presume, naturally, it was his baby, and she could imagine his excitement. She didn't know how she would be able to disabuse him of his assumption if he got it wrong, but if he did find out, she would have to, as when the baby was born, it would be obvious it wasn't Michael's. Ray's pale skin would no doubt come through and give away the secret.

Panicked, she gathered up the tests, and looked around desperately for somewhere to hide them.

'Neela, are you in here?'

The bin? No, that was too obvious, he might see them there. Perhaps she could dump them in the bath and pull the curtain across. No, that wouldn't work either, he would probably be wanting a shower so he would find them instantly.

'Neela?'

Hurriedly, she wrapped them up in a towel and threw them into the linen basket that was there for the maids to collect from. Taking a deep breath and trying to pinch some colour into her cheeks, she flushed the toilet to give herself a cover for being in the bathroom, and stepped out to her husband.

'Hey,' she smiled at him, as genuinely as she was able. She didn't think she'd felt less like smiling in her life. 'Have you had fun today?'

He returned her smile lovingly, and pulled her in towards him. 'I've had a great time. Would have been better if you had been there.' He bent his head to kiss her enthusiastically, and she forced herself to respond.

When he broke away, he frowned down at her briefly. 'Are you okay? You look a little pale.'

'I'm fine,' she said, too brightly. 'Never better.'


	10. Coming home

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me so long to come up with another chapter for this, as you know I was away on holiday and since I've been back I've been busy doing lots of shopping for the new flat (I have discovered a love for charity furniture shops – oh, the bargains!) Here's the chapter though, and I hope you enjoy it.

For the rest of the honeymoon, Neela did her very best to act as normally as she could. She didn't think she did all that well at it, but she must have done well enough, as Michael did not seem to have any suspicions that there was something amiss, at least, not that he voiced or gave any indication to. In truth, he was too happy to notice.

She'd done more pregnancy tests, at least one a day, and usually more, every day since that first one when she'd found out. She didn't know why she carried on, she knew what the answer was going to be. Still though, the triumph of hope over adversity perhaps.

Every day, she got up, early, making sure she was thoroughly sick before Michael roused, then had a shower, nailed a smile to her face, and discreetly pushed her breakfast around her plate while Michael tucked in heartily. She was too afraid to eat in case in sparked off more nausea, usually forcing down a little bit of cardboard cereal, definitely Special K rather than Lucky Charms, for the sake of appearance then tried to make up for it later in the day when she stood at least a fighting chance of keeping food down.

Most days, by early afternoon, she began to feel more like herself again and so threw herself into whatever they did in the afternoons to hide the fact that she spent most of the morning clutching her stomach and lounging in the sun somewhere very close to a toilet. As far as the alcohol consumption was concerned, she hadn't been able to escape the odd glass of wine, but she had sipped at it conservatively until Michael went to the restroom or happened to be distracted and she had the opportunity to pour it back into the bottle or into a plant pot if there was one handy. She'd already been complaining of the stomach virus and although she stopped mentioning it as much in case he suggested going to see a doctor about it, it was a useful excuse for when she couldn't hide the sickness.

On the whole, physically, she felt that she was doing well. _Shame that her head was an utter mess though. _Every spare second that she had was eaten up with agonising over her situation. She had been over every action and every single possible consequence that could arise a thousand times and she was no further forward in having the slightest idea what to do. Each way she turned, all she could see was hurt and pain and heartache, a spiralling black hole from which she couldn't extract herself without betraying either her husband or the man she was in love with.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she had managed to get a moment to herself, she just burst into tears. She would liked to have thought that it was down to the hormones, but she knew that she had a lot to cry about. Then, of course, she would berate herself at her pathetic self pitying state. She'd brought it all on herself, it was entirely her own fault, and she could blame no one else.

That made her feel worse still. It would have been nice to have someone to shout and scream at, to ask why, what she had done wrong to find herself trapped in such a hateful situation, with the lines between right and wrong and friendship and love and lust so hopelessly blurred. It felt like someone had cast her out in the middle of a deep dark ocean in a very small and lonely boat, and taken away her compass, just for fun.

Being stuck in Jamaica… no, stuck wasn't the right way to put it. That made her sound like she wasn't enjoying herself, that she didn't want to be there, and that wasn't true; she was on her honeymoon, she had a gorgeous, loving, honourable husband, and she loved spending time with him, especially in this beautiful place. But being so far from everyone, so far from reality, wasn't helping her come to terms with the situation. She was burying her head in that white, tropical sand and she knew it. She was putting off the moment when she had to decide, to tell the truth. Rationally, she knew that the longer she left it, the more difficult it would become, and the more heinous the lie, but she was too afraid to form the words. She made excuses for herself, that she needed to talk to Ray first, but she knew that when the moment came to talk to Ray, she would turn those excuses up on their head, persuading herself that it was in fact Michael who deserved to know soonest.

Now though, now she was sitting on the plane back to Chicago, flying back to face the music. She'd been able to hide things so far from Michael, but there was a flicker of fear in her chest that Ray would not be so easily fooled. They knew each other so well, too well. The stomach virus excuse would not hold at home, and the walls of the apartment were plenty thin enough for him to hear her hurling at six o'clock every morning. There had been plenty of times she had heard his alcoholic binges end abruptly in the bathroom, and she didn't doubt he would soon hear her too. What's more, Ray would see the dead look in her eyes, the crumpled frown of worry that was permanently etched onto her forehead; little tiny signs of upset that Michael would never notice.

Not that that was Michael's fault in the least. She might have known him longer than Ray, but you didn't _really _get to know someone through letters, a one night stand, a lot more letters and a whirlwind marriage followed by a fortnight's honeymoon. Ray she lived and worked with. For nearly a year, she had seen him every single day, picked up his towels and washed his clothes, eaten his cooking and pinched his beer. It would take a monumental effort to hide something like this from him, and it was an effort she didn't think, in her current state of emotional exhaustion, that she was capable of.

Like it or not, she was going to have to tell him, else he would figure it out for himself.

Sitting in traffic, tapping the steering wheel impatiently, Ray wondered why, exactly, he had offered to collect them from the airport. It was an impulsive, altruistic gesture that he'd regretted even before he'd finished saying the words.

She'd called him from Jamaica, just before she left, to let him know what time to expect them home, and he'd heard himself say, 'Quarter past six, okay. I'll be there.'

Never mind that it meant driving right across the city in the middle of rush hour, never mind that it was his first day off since before Christmas, never mind that the girl he was in love with was returning from two idyllic weeks in a Caribbean paradise with her new husband. Oh no, his voice had bypassed his brain and taken over his mouth before he could stop it. He guessed when it came to Neela, his brain simply wasn't wired up in the right way. Every signal that with any other girl went to the brain, or well, elsewhere, seemed to go straight to the heart with Neela around.

Once the offer was issued, it was too late to recant.

'No Ray, don't be silly. You don't have to come and pick us up, we'll get a cab.'

Her voice sounded so good after so long. Although he knew it shouldn't, he felt his heart, which had been slowly dying in a tortured twist of pain since she'd been gone, begin to beat again, as if there might actually be a reason for life. Who would have thought simply hearing her voice could make him feel so much better? Who would have thought a fortnight could feel like a century?

'I'm off, it's fine. I don't mind.' _I do mind, very much, _his brain added, _but I don't think I can actually live without seeing you for any longer. _

'Well, are you sure?' She caved too easily, not like her usual stubborn self, and he wondered, just for a split second, if she was as eager to see him as he was her. Then he remembered that she had been on _honeymoon_, with her _husband_,and was probably just tired, simply eager to avoid the difficulty of finding a cab, the hefty fare to get all the way across Chicago to the apartment. And there he was, friend and roommate, offering a solution to the problem.

'Of course. Bertha's just back from the shop and she's as good as new.' Bertha was the van. The band had named her that after a particularly scary one night stand of Brett's that it was unanimously decided he should never be allowed to forget.

'She, no, _it_' she corrected herself (Ray's persistent personification of his van was a notorious source of conflict and banter), 'was in the shop again? What happened this time?'

'I'm not exactly sure, but it _did not _involve me forgetting to top up the anti-freeze and therefore _did not _result in things freezing that should not be frozen.' One day, he was really going to have to learn to do grown up things like pay bills on time and look after his car. Neela was the complete opposite, of course. Two halves of the same whole?

'Right,' she replied slowly, and he could picture perfectly her rolling her eyes in exasperation at his lack of organisation, tutting disapprovingly and shaking her head, thick curls bouncing on her shoulders and lower lip stuck out just a tiny bit, into a pout she didn't even realise she was pulling. 'Well, if you honestly don't mind picking us up…'

_Us. _The wrong _us. _

'It's not a problem. I'll be there,' he promised. He was both proud of and disgusted by the forced casuality of his tone.

Now though, it was a ten to six, and the chances of him getting to the airport in time through the build up of rush hour traffic and the slippery grey slush the last fall of snow had become were sliding away to nothing. He had so wanted to be there to greet her, to see her coming towards him in the crowd, her eyes searching for _him. _In that one second where there eyes would meet, his fantasy would permit him to forget she had a husband, who would no doubt be standing right beside her, carrying her bag and maybe even holding her hand. In that one split second, it would just be him and Neela. It was a moment that he felt was worth rushing for.

He turned up the radio a little to take his mind off his frustration, but every channel seemed to be playing something about love or regrets and things like that, all stuff that cut just that little bit too deep, and he wound up turning it off, humming to himself to pass the time and kill the silence.

Then, as traffic sometimes inexplicably did, the jam seemed to pass and he was sailing away down the road. He checked his watch. If he found a space quickly, he might just make it to meet her.

No, not _her_, he reminded himself. _Them. _Neela and Michael. The Gallants. Neela Gallant. Was she going to be Neela Gallant? For some strange reason, he thought that would make him feel even worse. She was _Neela Rasgotra_, that was just who she was, her identity. To be anything but that wouldn't make her her anymore.

Not that it mattered. Whoever she was, she'd never again be just his roomie, someone to drink and laugh with. Someone to come home to at night. From now on, she was another man's wife, and Ray knew he might not have been at the front of the queue the day morals were handed out, but he had some rules and that was one of them. No married women. It only led to trouble.

With Neela though, he had a feeling it was already too late.

He threw the van into a too small space and ran all the way to the arrivals gate, just getting there before the disembarked passengers began to pour through. After a few seconds of searching, he saw her walking towards him through the crowd. Her skin was darkened a little more than usual by the sun, and although she looked tired, when she picked him out and gave him a wave, the smile that lit up her face, a genuine, unmistakable delight to see him, he knew that the moment had been every bit as worth it as he had thought it would be. There was no Michael, there was no crowd of disorientated, tired passengers searching for family and friends. Just them.

And that was when he realised he was in more trouble than he'd ever been in before.

What he didn't know then though, was just how much.


	11. Chilli and Merlot

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter. As you know, I'm addicted to reviews, so I really appreciate when you take the time to do so. Another chapter of The End is vaguely on the way by the way, I haven't forgotten about it, I'm writing a Gates chapter and it's slow going getting the balance I'm looking for. As for this story, I may be neglecting my others for the time being in an effort to get through this one, if you don't mind. I feel it's been going on for a long time, and needs to move forward a bit. (NB. The middle seat/gearstick idea in this chapter comes directly from my friend's landrover. It is manufactured, I am sure, specifically for the purpose of creating embarrassing situations).

The journey back from the airport was torture and bliss all rolled into one confusing mix. The bags having been installed in the back, rolling around with various band related detritus, Ray jumped in the driver's seat and started the engine. Neela realised that it was going to have to be her that sat in the middle seat. You had to get kind of friendly with the driver in that seat and she couldn't expect Michael to sit there.

'Here, I'll jump in,' she offered.

Michael smiled gratefully, and took her hand to help her climb up. 'Thanks,' he whispered right in her ear. 'I wasn't looking forward to getting up close and personal to Barnett.' He obviously thought he was being funny, so Neela chuckled appreciatively. She didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Once she was in, Neela gave Ray a brief, apologetic look, and shifted up next to him. One of the principal drawbacks of being the middle passenger in Bertha was that you had to put one leg on either side of the gearstick, then the driver had to spend most of the journey with his hand between his unfortunate passenger's legs. Neela looked down at the gearstick between her denim clad knees. Oh boy, this was going to be awkward.

Michael jumped in alongside her, and raised an amused eyebrow. 'Cosy,' he remarked.

'Yeah, sorry,' Ray replied. 'The van's good for taking the band equipment around, but not so great for passengers.' He started the engine and reached down to put it into first gear.

Neela could feel the presence of his hand so close to her body. She felt strangely vulnerable sitting next to him with her legs apart. It seemed too… inviting somehow. Inappropriate. _Tempting. _

She concentrated on looking straight ahead, watching the road, but that didn't stop her from thinking how _close _she was to him. They hadn't been this close since the night that… All along their bodies, shoulders, arms, hips, thighs, were pressed against each other, and she could feel the warmth of him through their clothes.

And his hand. Just inches from the inside of her thigh. All it would take would be an unexpected bump in the road and his hand could slip off the gearstick and he would be touching her. His fingers would be on the inside of her leg, running upwards, closer and closer to…

Neela came to with a jolt. How could she even be thinking of that? Her husband was next to her, holding her hand, smiling his loving, content smile, and all that was in her treacherous mind was Ray, with the blush of lust creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. That she could be so easily aroused, just by proximity and her thoughts, disgusted her. Did she have that little control over herself? Well, yes, obviously, else she wouldn't be in this horrible situation in the first place.

She'd hoped that things would be clearer upon coming home, seeing Ray, but they weren't. Already she felt even more trapped, between her husband, who despite the whirlwind of their romance, she loved, and Ray, who she was hopelessly, inescapably in love with. Michael was the safe option, Ray was the risk, and she didn't know if she had the courage to choose between them.

Unconsciously, she rested the hand that Michael was not holding on her stomach. She still found it impossible to believe that there was a life in there. A real, human life. A life that was already depending on her to look after it and keep it safe from harm. It should make things easier, make up her mind for her. It was Ray's baby, without a doubt, and logically, that meant her future should lie with Ray. Simple.

Except it wasn't. Nothing was simple anymore. She couldn't begin to imagine how Ray would react when she told him. Would he run in fear, or worse, feel trapped into staying with her, resenting her and the baby, with their friendship disintegrating to nothing. Or Michael. It would break Michael's heart. He would go off back to Iraq in a flash; what if he stopped caring, did something reckless, got hurt, or… worse. That would be on her conscience forever. She'd never be able to escape from it.

Again, she had to slam the door on her thoughts, this time in case she cried at the hopelessness of it all. Already there were tears pricking at her eyes. She blinked them away determinedly, and tried to focus on the conversation. Ray and Michael were making small talk, Michael was asking about the hospital and Ray was telling him about a serial swallower they'd had in, and the things that had been found in his stomach. Ray had been allowed to assist on the surgery for some reason, and was giving a blow by blow account of it to Michael, who was appreciating Ray's comedy retelling of it.

When he came to the end of the story however, he glanced down at her. 'Neela, are you all right? You're quiet.' He wanted to ask so much more than that. He could tell she wasn't all right; normally she'd be chattering away, especially on anything involving surgery. She had barely said two words since he'd seen her walking towards him at Arrivals, and looking at her carefully, knowing too well every inch of her face, he could see dark circles under her eyes, betraying a lack of sleep, and she looked like she'd lost weight. There was something fragile about her that he hadn't seen before. Neela was a lot of things, but never fragile.

'I'm fine,' she replied. 'Just tired from the flight.'

'She wasn't very well in Jamaica,' Michael added. 'Stomach virus. It seemed to be clearing up by the end though.'

_No Michael, I just got better at hiding it. _

'Neela?' Ray asked.

'Much better now,' she smiled at him. 'I think it was the water or something.'

Ray nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation, and the three of them fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence. Ray kept his eyes fixed on the road. He'd made the effort earlier to steer the conversation onto medicine. He didn't think he could bear to hear the details of the honeymoon. Long lazy mornings in bed, romantic dinners. No, he definitely couldn't bear to hear about that.

He did his best to concentrate on driving for a while, determinedly keeping his mind blank. He could feel her body next to him, warm and soft, and if he gave it any thought at all, he knew he'd be in trouble. He hadn't had sex since that night, with her, and that was a long time by his normal standards. He felt like his body was doubly aware, balanced on a knife edge.

No, Barnett. Don't even think it, none of it. Just drive. Yep, that's right, accelerate. Okay, time to change gear. He took his hand off the steering wheel and reached down to the gearstick. Right at the worst possible moment, he caught a pothole with the front tyre, and the whole van jolted sideways.

As it did so, his hand moved off the gearstick and all of a sudden, he was touching her leg, the inside of her thigh. He knew under the denim of her jeans her skin there was silky smooth, blissful, and it was only inches from there up… It was a path his hand had travelled before, and his lips. He ached to do so again.

Caught up in his thoughts, he kept his hand there a fraction longer than he should have done. Her body was tense when he realised what he was doing. Swiftly, he moved it back to the gearstick. 'I… umm, sorry, I didn't mean –'

'Oh, no, don't worry,' she said quickly. She felt an impulse to dip her head away from him to hide her blush, but realised in doing so, she'd have to turn towards Michael, showing him that even a brush of Ray's hand sent her pulse racing. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Oh God, she still wanted him, so badly it felt like her whole body was aching. The place where he'd touched her was on fire.

'It was an accident,' Ray stuttered. 'When I hit the pothole…'

'It's no problem,' she reassured him. It was though, and what's more, he knew it as well. Only Michael, still smiling, didn't seem overcome by the awkwardness of the moment.

'Hey, mind what you're doing with my wife,' he joked, his voice light.

_My wife. _Always that possession. It drove Ray crazy. She was her own person, she didn't belong to Gallant just because she wore his ring. She wasn't something to be _owned. _He bit his tongue though. The guy had just been making a joke, being friendly. He wasn't being deliberately cruel, rubbing salt in the wounds. He had no idea there was any tension there at all.

Ray sighed quietly. There was no point in creating a scene over it. There was only one way that could end, and he'd promised Neela. He bit his tongue harder.

In the silence that followed, Neela realised that her excuse of being tired wasn't actually a lie. She hadn't slept very much since she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd spent most of the nights lying awake, tossing and turning, worrying, thinking. Occasionally, she'd managed to catch up on a bit of sleep in the mornings by the pool, when the nausea wasn't too bad, but she was incredibly, overwhelmingly tired. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself to gradually doze off. It took every inch of her willpower to rest her head on Michael's shoulder rather than Ray's.

As soon as they returned to the apartment, Neela could smell that Ray had been cooking. It smelt amazing, and for the first time in days, she actually felt hungry. In Jamaica, she'd just been eating for the sake of it, because she knew she had to. Ray's cooking; that was different. She hoped selfishly it wasn't just for him. She turned back to Ray, who was carrying her suitcase for her, while Michael carried his own, as well as the assorted carrier bags they had managed to accumulate in Duty Free.

'That smells delicious, is there some left over?'

'I umm… cooked it for all three of us. Chilli and jacket potatoes, it's not much, I hope that's okay.'

'Thank you Ray, that's so thoughtful of you.' She laid a hand on his arm, just in a friendly gesture, but immediately regretted it. His skin under her fingers… She withdrew her hand as if it had been burnt. One quick glance at him, only for a second, which was as long as she dared, told her she wasn't the only one who felt the electricity course between them at the simple contact.

'You cook?' Michael asked, surprised but impressed. 'Neela made it sound like you two live on takeaways.'

'Oh, we do most of the time,' Ray said quickly, to hide Neela's discomfiture. 'I wasn't working today, so I thought I might as well knock something up.'

_Knock something up? _She didn't think she should find that comment as funny as she did. It must be lack of sleep, or hysteria, or something like that. As the men continued to make small talk, Neela managed to discipline the smirk that she felt spreading over her face against her will.

They didn't take long to throw their bags into her room, and sit down at the table. Ray brought the food out from the kitchen, and placed it in the middle of the table. He served it out to them, then held up a bottle of red wine. He didn't offer it around, simply presuming, and went to Neela's glass first. He stopped abruptly though, when she put her hand over the top of the glass.

'Don't you want any?' he asked, surprised.

Neela knew that, despite their regular beer and tequila binges, Ray knew that red wine was her poison of choice, and she noticed the bottle he had was one of her favourites, a Napa Valley Merlot that she'd discovered a few months ago. There was only one liquor store around here that sold it; typical Ray, it was a welcome home present, special between them, but something that Michael wouldn't so much as bat an eyelid at. She didn't want to refuse his gesture, and God knew a glass of red wine would go down well right now, but she couldn't. What's more, she would have to think up a decent excuse.

'Umm, no, thank you. I think my stomach's only just getting back to normal, wine won't exactly –'

'Oh, come on. Just a small glass,' Ray persuaded. 'It won't do you any harm. I… I got this one especially.' The last part of the sentence was quiet, embarrassed. She could tell he hadn't meant to say it in front of Michael.

'No, really, Ray.'

He was about to back down when Michael jumped in. 'He's right Neela. Have a glass of wine. Make the most of the last night of our honeymoon, you're back at work tomorrow.'

She looked from one to the other. They were looking at her appealingly. If she couldn't say no to one of them, then there was no chance of standing up to them both. 'A small one then.' Ray began to pour. 'Woah, that's enough,' she said, almost as soon as the rich claret liquid began to hit the bottom of the glass. 'Woah, Ray, Ray, _Ray. _That'll do.'

He eventually stopped when the glass was nearly three quarters full. 'Thank you,' she said quietly, not looking at either of them, but still feeling their eyes boring into her. She knew she was going to have to perk up a bit if she wasn't going to arouse suspicion, so she raised her glass.

'To you, Ray, for this lovely meal.'

Finally, she summoned the courage she needed to meet his eyes, and her heart broke by what she found there. _So much pain. _Then she realised, however much this was hurting her, it was even worse for him.


	12. Torture

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Yep, another chapter already. I guess I'm on a bit of a roll. Hope you enjoy, and please, please, please leave me a review. Hopefully, I'll be getting onto the nice angsty late season twelve stuff soon – I can't wait! I've got two ideas for new stories (yes, more) that are dying to be written, but I'm determined not to start anything new until I've finished _all _the ones I've got on the go, so expect me to try to race on with them all a bit. Well, until the forthcoming house move gets in the way anyhow! For now though, a nice long chapter as a special treat. (Rating warning: I know the story is rated M, and not all chapters live up to that, but this one is another that probably does).

Ray lay in the dark, wondering if there was any way at all that he could fall to sleep and his mind would be allowed a rest from the swirling thoughts, the unfettered _anguish _that was gradually driving him crazy. If he'd thought falling asleep was hard when she was away, it was ten times more so now, when he was painfully conscious of the fact that she was only in the next room, just feet away from him.

All those times when she was on honeymoon that he'd said to himself that all he wanted was just to see her, talk to her, hear her laugh and watch her flick her hair over her shoulder when she was annoyed, he realised was complete _bullshit. _

Sure, he wanted to see her and, what was it? hear her laugh, but he didn't really care about that. He wanted to go into that bedroom now, and throw her smug, happy, annoyingly polite, damn perfect husband out of the window and then make love to her all night. That was what he _really _wanted to do. He wanted to slowly undress her, peeling off her pajamas (it was always pajamas in the fantasy, not as sexy as some black lace negligee but so much more Neela), and kiss her, from her smooth cool forehead down her entire body, not missing out a single inch of delicious dark skin. Then he wanted to take her in his arms, and revel in the feeling of her body beneath him, around him, her hot breath in his ear and her slender legs locked around him as they made slow, languorous love until dawn.

Oh yes, he could do this friendship crap if that's what she wanted. He couldn't bear to lose her entirely, much as he hated it, that was a given, so he would have to put up with whatever crumbs came his way. But that would never change the fact that whenever he saw her, _for the rest of his life_, he was never going to not want to rip her clothes off and have her against the first surface that came their way. He hoped she damn well understood that.

The meal had been torture. None of them wanted to be there, and although the food was good, much appreciated by Michael and Neela, who'd missed their last meal, a tray of cardboard crap served on the aeroplane, the forced jollity of it all had got on everyone's nerves by the end of it. It was all so false, a complete pretence, and even Gallant, lovestruck and oblivious though he was, was shifting in his seat and racking his brains for something to fill the silences by the time they had got on to the coffee.

It didn't start off too badly. Gallant had tucked into the food with a relish that went beyond mere politeness, and in spite of himself, Ray couldn't help but think that in a different world, another more forgiving set of circumstances, he wouldn't have minded him too much.

Then the conversation, understandably enough, got round to Jamaica, what they'd done and the things they had seen, and that's when things began to disintegrate. While Michael was telling him about the day he'd spent doing watersports, Ray noticed that Neela went even quieter, dropping out of the conversation entirely. She stopped eating, and started to push the food around her plate absently, biting her lip hard and staring blankly downwards.

What was wrong? As he watched her, Ray tried to tune back into what Michael was saying – in truth, he hadn't been listening, and certainly hadn't heard more than one word in ten – to try to get some sort of clue to her change in mood. What was he on about? Watersports, that was it. He'd spent a day out on the sea, jetskiing and windsurfing without Neela. Perhaps they'd had a row about it, maybe she didn't want him to go, or had wanted to be included herself. It seemed a silly thing for an argument, but Ray couldn't prevent that leap of hope flare up in his chest at the idea of conflict between them.

And yet, although he longed for it, it didn't seem like there had been a row. Michael was talking enthusiastically, pausing occasionally in his narrative to glance across at Neela with a smile, and she didn't seem angry at him or anything he was saying. On the contrary, she didn't look like she was listening at all; she had completely withdrawn into herself and her thoughts.

Ray had been sorely tempted to say something, but he decided against it. Whatever it was, it was something that he had noticed and Michael had not, and although he was ashamed of himself, he stored up that knowledge, ammunition of some sort to use, even if only to comfort himself. In the best set of circumstances, it could be used to comfort _her. _He did try to catch her eye though, to give her a look, quite what look he wasn't sure, but something to convey the fact what he was here for her, that he cared.

It was in vain however; she didn't once glance away from her plate until the conversation had moved round to something else, and even then, she didn't seem to quite recover. The more Ray watched her, the more convinced he became that there was something wrong. He hadn't been mistaken in the car, there were dark circles under her eyes, and as he scrutinised her face carefully, he noticed that one side of her lower lip was swollen, as if she had been biting it a lot recently, a nervous habit that he knew she had. There was no doubt that she had been ill, and he thought that if he was her husband, he would have made sure she'd gone to a doctor, had some tests and got some medication.

Things got worse from there on in. Neela, still tired and ill, looked like she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years. Ray, for the sake of politeness, and also to take the attention away from Neela – whatever was wrong, he knew instinctively that it wasn't something she wanted noticed – tried to keep chatting away to Michael, but he found it too hard. Gallant was full of nothing but honeymoon, for which Ray couldn't really blame him in all fairness, and Ray couldn't think of anything he wanted to hear about less than charming anecdotes of the newlyweds on their tropical island paradise. He battled for a long time to keep his emotions in check, but after a while, he fell into monosyllabic answers, the occasional forced smile and nod of feigned interest, because he didn't trust himself to say anything else.

Michael, well bred into politeness, lasted the longest but even he was engulfed in the awkward silence by the time Ray went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. It was clear that he had very much enjoyed having his new wife to himself for the last two weeks, and despite the good meal, all that was really on his mind was getting her alone once again. His comment earlier with the wine gave away that he still considered tonight to be part of the honeymoon before Neela went back to work tomorrow afternoon, and the glint of desire in his eyes was far too powerful to be hidden.

All three of them had relief written all over their faces when Neela was the first to break, and announced she was going to bed. Ray had had to clench both jaw and fist to maintain control when Gallant had leapt up instantly, unashamedly eager to follow her.

And so Ray was lying alone and cold in the darkness. He wondered briefly what the time was, but he couldn't be bothered to roll over and consult the clock. It didn't matter anyway. All he knew was that it was somewhere well past midnight, probably nearer one or two o'clock, and so far, he hadn't slept a wink. He was lying stretched out, studying the ceiling through the still black air as if he could see it in intimate detail.

The silence was bearing down on him, almost crushing him in its intensity. Every breath he took felt deafeningly loud, and the more he concentrated on inhaling quietly, the more he could hear himself. No wonder he couldn't sleep, he thought to himself. He would send himself straight to a residential psych ward like this.

He was just contemplating getting up and getting something, a cup of tea perhaps, or a glass of water, or, actually, probably a beer, when he heard something. It was coming from the other side of the wall.

A body was shifting on the bed. 'Neela?' Gallant's deep voice cut through the night.

Neela was right, these walls were paper thin, you could hear absolutely everything through them, and he got a sudden, sickening feeling that he was about to receive payback, in an extreme and terrible way, for all the times he'd kept her awake at night.

'Neela, are you awake?'

No answer, thank God. She was asleep. He wasn't going to have to endure what he'd thought for a moment there he was going to. It was bad enough lying here for the last two weeks, imagining them at it on honeymoon in newly wedded bliss. To actually hear it would have been…

'Yes, I'm awake,' a whisper eventually came back, and Ray felt his heart sink.

'Is everything okay? You seemed quiet earlier.' Ah, so he had noticed then. Ray didn't think he had; he'd obviously underestimated his sensitivity.

'Oh, I was just tired. It's strange being back, I guess I don't want to be going back to work tomorrow and…' _And facing reality_, she added to herself.

'All right, as long as there's nothing wrong.'

'Of course not,' Ray heard her reply, but she was still whispering, so he couldn't make out any expression in her voice. He didn't know whether to believe her or not.

'Good. Come here then.' He imagined arms being held out to her. The creaking of the bed told him that she moved across into them. There was a short silence, and with a heart of lead, Ray knew they were kissing.

'Mm, Neela,' Gallant was groaning. It was enough to make Ray put a pillow over his head, but that wasn't enough to block out the sounds, or the images they invoked.

More silence. _More kissing. _Then, 'Michael, don't, not now.'

Ray's ears pricked up, and he found himself listening against his will.

Gallant's voice was hurt, confused. He seemed to be making no effort to keep the noise down, as Neela was. 'What? Why not?'

'I'm tired…'

Ray didn't swallow that one, and he was sure Michael wouldn't either. They had been married less than a month, they were meant to be unable to keep their hands off each other.

'Tired?' Gallant sounded suitably put out and incredulous. 'Come off it Neela. What's really wrong?'

She seemed to sense she wasn't going to get away with such a poor excuse. 'I'm sorry, it's not that I don't want to, but it's just… Ray's right next door, it's… weird.'

Ray's heart skipped a beat at her words. He couldn't believe she'd actually just mentioned his name while in bed with her husband. She'd actually used him as an excuse. He held his breath, waiting to see what came next, all the time withering in shame at just how low he was sinking, eavesdropping through walls.

'Don't worry about him, he'll be asleep by now.'

'What if he's not?'

'Never mind if he isn't. How many times has he kept you awake going at it with some cheap slut he's picked up? Time for a little payback, don't you think?'

It took every ounce of willpower that Ray possessed not to leap out of bed and march in there and throw Gallant out the damn window, just as he'd dreamed of doing earlier. How dare he? How dare he say that, Ray raged to himself, he doesn't even know me. Of course, he knew that the sting of the words really came from the fact that they were true, and worse, it must have originally come from Neela. No wonder she had married Gallant if she held that low an opinion of himself. In that instant, he regretted every one night stand, every meaningless fling he'd ever had. He'd take them all back if it meant having Neela.

As the silence bore down on him again, Ray realised Neela wasn't going to answer. He thought that was probably for the best, he didn't think he could bear to hear her put him down, agree with Gallant.

What he did hear was worse though. She moaned, a quiet little moan that sounded like it had escaped from her throat against her will, the pleasure too great not to make a sound.

His fists clenched.

'Michael...'

Her tone was entirely different than when she had said his name earlier. There was no note of refusal in her voice, it was husky, needy, everything you would expect from a recent bride luxuriating under the touch of her husband.

Then they fell into silence again, but Ray's mind tortured him by filling in the gaps. In his mind's eye he saw Neela lying back on the pillows, raven hair fanned out around her, her breath quickened and her eyes darkened with desire for her husband. Gallant was above her, head dipped to kiss her lips, running down her throat to the pit at the base of her neck, a brief pause for his tongue to dart out to taste skin, then on to her breast. Hands touching her, driving her closer to ecstasy, limbs entwined.

More moans came through the wall, heavy and full of growing need.

He felt sick, sick at what he was hearing, and sick at himself, for listening. He wanted to escape, to at least go to the lounge where he might be able to hear them, but at least not in explicit detail, but he couldn't. He was trapped in his room, trapped in the torture. If he moved, then they would know that he was awake, listening. Gallant might not care, but Neela would. Neela would _know. _

'Oh God, Neela, I… I need to –'

Ray put his head back under his pillow, clamping it over his ears, but to no avail.

'Yes, yes.' Her desperate acquiescence cut him through like a knife straight into his heart.

Then the bedsprings began to creak, and Ray felt the bile rising in his throat. To his utter disgust, that wasn't the only thing that was rising. Listening to Neela's breathy moans, hearing her desire and remembering what it felt like, what _she _felt like, when he had touched her, when he had kissed her and stroked her, tasting, caressing, driving her towards the pleasure she was in now, was too much for him. He was lying in bed, hard and alone, while the woman he loved was on the other side of a too thin wall, having sex with her husband.

This was his chance. While they were in the throes of ecstasy, they wouldn't hear him leave his room. Blankly ignoring his erection, he slipped out of bed and crept through to the kitchen. He just reached the sink in time before the nausea overtook him and, gripping at the side of the worktop, he threw up.

He stood there for a long time, the cold and the depression at length dampening his arousal. Then he swilled the vomit away, pouring a bit of bleach down the plug for good measure and to mask the smell, and looked around in the darkness. What to do now?

He looked at the fridge, contemplating a beer, before a better idea occurred to him. He reached into the back of a cupboard, and withdrew his bottle of tequila. He took it, and a glass, through to the lounge, and sat on the sofa. He poured himself a generous measure, and winced as he threw it down his throat and it burned a fiery path to the pit of his stomach. He leant back into the depths of the sofa with a loud, frustrated groan.

'Why the Hell does it have to be so damn difficult?' he asked no-one in particular.

'I'm sorry,' a quiet voice came from the doorway.

Ray jumped in surprise, and looked round to the source of the noise. In the darkness, he could just make out the shadow of Neela, standing there, watching him.


	13. An olive branch

Disclaimer: As before. Some of the conversation between Michael and Neela here is borrowed from a season… three, I think it was, episode, and a similar conversation between Mark Greene and Cynthia Hooper. I know that's kind of covered by my standard disclaimer at the beginning, but as it's a specific passage, I thought I'd say.

Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for all the reviews on the last chapter. I must confess, I ended the last chapter as I did simply because I thought it made for a nice little cliffhanger, without any thought as to why Neela might be there, or what was going to happen next, so I racked my brains and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it. (If ever you were wondering if my stories were carefully planned, thought out things, well, I guess now you know they're not!). Rating warning: M again.

Neela didn't know how she had managed to get through the meal, with Ray on one side and her and Michael the other. The food was the first she'd enjoyed for days, and the two sips of wine she'd allowed herself – two sips couldn't harm the baby, surely? – had tasted like nectar, but the tension was palpable. She'd felt it bearing down on her, crushing her, until she couldn't stand it a second longer, and she'd gone to bed.

Michael, predictably, had followed her instantly. She'd expected him to reach for her as soon as they were in bed, but for some reason, he'd waited. Then as her words of refusal came tumbling out, citing Ray, she realised why he hadn't gone for it when they first got to bed. Michael, perhaps not as blind or naïve as she had thought, had completely second guessed her. By waiting, he had ensured Ray would have had sufficient time to fall asleep, negating her excuse. She didn't know whether or not to be angry at his cunning or impressed by it.

'Don't worry about him, he'll be asleep by now,' he said dismissively, his head dipping to kiss the spot below her ear.

'What if he's not?' she asked, trying to ignore the sensations Michael's lips were setting off in the pit of her stomach. Ray wasn't asleep. She didn't know how she knew, but she was certain that he was awake. She could feel him, lying there restlessly, just on the other side of the wall.

'Never mind if he isn't. How many times has he kept you awake going at it with some cheap slut he's picked up? Time for a little payback, don't you think?'

In the darkness, Neela winced at his words. They were undeniably true, but this was a completely different situation; only Michael, not knowing a tenth of it, would draw that parallel. And imagine if Ray heard them. That would be too cruel. But there was no way that she could tell Michael that, or refuse him. She didn't want to refuse him anyway, he was her husband, and she did love him. He just… wasn't Ray.

Sinking back onto the pillows, Neela forced her mind determinedly blank and allowed Michael to kiss her. She didn't let herself reflect on the possibility of having to do that for the rest of her life, having to turn her mind off before sleeping with her husband. To never be mentally engaged while having sex, just for the fear of what she might say, who she might remember.

She responded to his touch – it was hard not to – and reached up to wrap her arms around his strong body, running her hands over his muscular back. Michael took that as all the encouragement he needed, and he kissed her harder, more enthusiastically. Already she felt a hand skimming down her stomach, pausing to caress her breasts on the way down, to untie the knot holding her pajama bottoms up.

Then he was touching her, and she moaned; she couldn't help herself. No matter what thoughts were running through her confused, overloaded mind, Michael knew exactly what to do, where to touch her, to make her forget them all. He was circling her, teasing, making her writhe beneath him.

'Michael…' she begged, and in the darkness she saw his eyes shining happily as he smiled down at her, satisfied at what he was doing and the reactions he was eliciting from her. Agonisingly slowly, he slid one finger inside her and she tightened around it, another loud moan being ripped from her throat.

'Please,' she breathed. He stopped teasing her, leaving an ache of need behind when he withdrew his hand. He paused in kissing her just long enough to pull her pajama top over her head, then she arched up towards him so he could remove her shorts as well. She could feel him pressing against her insistently now, without the barrier of her clothing. She reached down to him, wanting to torture him in the same way he had her, but he couldn't bear it for long.

'Oh God, Neela, I… I need to –'

'Yes, yes,' she gasped.

As soon as he heard her panted permission, he reached out for a condom – he'd left the packet on the little table right next to the lamp, and putting it on, slid into her. She cried out at the feel of him, clutching at his shoulders and arching her back into him. They began to move together, faster, hotter, kissing clumsily as they both rose closer to climax.

Then Neela heard a noise that made her heated blood turn to ice. Ray's bedroom door slammed shut. Immediately, she froze, and all thought of what she and Michael were doing was gone. She still felt him moving on her and in her, but in a detached way that gave her no pleasure, and as he gave a sudden shudder and came, she felt nothing but a chilly numbness where only seconds before, there had been heat and sensations.

All she could think of was Ray. He must have heard them. He must have been lying there, in the bed where they had spent the night in a frenzy of passion and love, listening to her with Michael. He must have heard her moan Michael's name, begging. She felt awful, just _terrible. _How could she have done that to him? She still wasn't sure how she could have done any of what she had in these last weeks to him.

Michael interrupted her thoughts. 'Neela?'

She forced her face into a smile.

'I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… get ahead of you there,' he apologised awkwardly.

She looked up at him. He was so full of love and care and apology all the time. The idea of hurting him was absolute anathema to her, but it was going to have to be him or Ray. Whenever she was with Michael, she was sure that her duty, her future lay with her husband. The baby would have to go, of course, but… there would be others, later, when she and Michael were ready.

And then she would think of Ray, and her heart would melt. She imagined waking up in the morning to see those beautiful hazel eyes gazing down at her, and those tattooed arms holding her when she was tired or scared or alone, just as he had done until she had done wrong by them all and got married. Further than that, a tiny tiny part of her that she barely even allowed herself to consider was trying to sell an image to her. In the image, she was standing by the door of the apartment with a baby in her arms, a bright, beautiful baby with wide dark eyes, and Ray was leaving for work. He was leaning down and kissing first their child, and then her, and the love in her eyes as she looked up at him was utterly reflected in his own. She wanted _so _much to believe that one day, that could all come true, but it wouldn't. Life wasn't like that. It couldn't be _that _good.

'Don't worry about it,' she reassured him.

'Well, I'm still sorry. I thought you were… there too.'

'Michael, it's fine, it's not a problem.' It was sweet of him to be so concerned about her. It wasn't every day you came across a guy that actually gave a damn whether you had as good a time as he did, and she was married to him. It was all she'd ever dreamed of as a girl, a caring loving husband, and being a doctor. It was a shame, for all of them, that somewhere along the way, her dreams had changed.

She rolled over, as if she was going to sleep, and she felt him wind his arm around her stomach, and he moved so he was spooning up against her back. She waited, and it wasn't very long before his breathing slowed, evened out into the heavy breaths of sleep. She listened out for Ray. She couldn't hear him at first, but then there was the sound of a short burst of running water in the kitchen, a rummaging in cupboards.

Should she go to him, or would that just make things worse? Footsteps moved through to the lounge.

No, it was no good. She couldn't just _lie _here, not while Ray was out there, thinking she had just deliberately had sex with Michael so he could hear it. She knew she'd treated him terribly, but letting him think that would be too cruel. A little voice in her head told her that perhaps that would be all for the best. Perhaps she should let Ray think she was the cold hearted bitch that he no doubt thought she was at the moment, and he'd be able to forget her, get on with his life as if she'd never existed. All she'd have to do was stay here, in Michael's arms…

Gently, she picked up the arm that Michael had thrown around her waist, and lifted it, crawling out from underneath him, and laid it softly back down on the mattress. She took her bathrobe off the peg on the back of the door and wrapped it around herself protectively, and opened the door as quietly as she could, creeping through to the lounge.

Ray was sitting on the sofa in the dark. She watched him, a shadow within shadows, as he poured himself a large shot of whatever was in the bottle in front of him – tequila, it had to be – and downed it as if it were water. He seemed too good at it. Was that her fault too?

He groaned loudly, a frustrated, angry noise so far away from the throaty, desirous groan that she remembered from him. 'Why the Hell does it have to be so damn difficult?' His voice was full of anguish.

'I'm sorry.'

She didn't know exactly what she was saying sorry for. For tonight? Yes. For _that _night? No, she wasn't sorry for that, she couldn't bring herself to take it back. She was sorry that she hurt him, she was sorry for the mess she had led him, led them all into, but she wasn't sorry that she'd given into her feelings, even if she'd suppressed them so immediately afterwards.

His head snapped around at the sound of her voice. He'd jumped when she spoken, he obviously didn't know she was there.

'Neela, I…'

'You heard?' The question was out before she could stop it. She made her way into the room and sat beside him. She was just close enough to feel the heat from his body.

'I tried not to,' he replied dryly, and she heard the bitterness in his tone.

'I –' She didn't want to just trot out an apology; it seemed woefully inadequate and she knew he would see it as just words, meaningless, but she couldn't think of what to say instead. 'I'm sorry Ray, I didn't mean –'

'You didn't mean what?' he cut her off angrily. 'You didn't mean for me to hear you having sex with your husband?' he spat.

She looked at the tequila bottle on the table. It was enormously tempting. If she wasn't going to keep the baby, it didn't matter if she pickled it first, did it? Her hand twitched towards it, and Ray saw.

'You want one?' he offered, his voice neutral.

She shook her head; better safe than sorry. 'I want… I want you not to hate me.' A sob hitched in her throat despite herself. 'I'm sorry, that was selfish of me,' she added, blinking away the tears that threatened. 'You've got every right to hate me. I hate me, and I certainly would if I was in your position.'

She had no idea how he was going to react, but it turned out that unwittingly, she'd said just the right thing. His face, which had been firmly set into an unusual hardness, softened instantly and he turned towards her, taking her small cold hands in his trying not to think what those hands had just been doing.

He met her eyes, and there was just enough light streaming into the room from the streetlight outside for her to see the absolute honesty in her eyes. 'Neela, I could never hate you. Believe me, these last weeks, I've tried to so damn hard, but it's no good, I can't do it. You're… my best friend. You mean too much to me.'

'You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that Ray.'

'Don't take it for granted Neela. You've…' He stopped himself before he told her the truth, that she had broken his heart and he didn't know how to fix it. 'Just… I'm fragile at the moment, okay. Be nice to me.' He did his best to smile. It was an olive branch, small, but as much as he could muster.

'I… I will Ray.'

He stood up. If he stayed out here any longer with her, the thin thread of self control he was clinging to was going to snap, and he was going to fall upon her, kissing her bitten lips and running his hands over her smooth skin – the v at the neck of her robe was growing bigger as the robe seemed to be loosening – until that awful troubled look had left her eyes, and she was smiling again. 'Go on, back to bed. Work again tomorrow – you've got too used to being on holidays.'

She laughed lightly, relieved that things seemed to be back on a more normal footing. All she needed now was the courage to tell him she was pregnant.

Ray watched her as she gave him a small smile, just the one he'd been hoping to see for the last two weeks, and walked slowly towards the door. As she reached it, she stopped and turned back to look at him. She opened her mouth, and a serious expression flitted across her face. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something else.

He wasn't sure he had the heart to hear it, not now, not tonight. So he cut her off. 'Goodnight Neela.'

Her voice was disappointed as she replied 'Night Ray', and went back to bed, to her husband.


	14. Phone call

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews, you're really keeping me going with this story. I'm moving house at the end of the week, so unfortunately no updates until I get the internet sorted, which could be a couple of weeks. I'll see how much I can churn out before that though! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying this though, and yes, I know I am torturing Ray in a cruel and unforgiving manner, but that's kind of a given with this story I'm afraid. This is a bit of a bridging chapter, but I don't think it's turned out too badly, considering (hope you agree!) Does anyone know where I can find the clip from Split Decisions where Michael tells Neela he's going back to Iraq? I've got all the Ray stuff from Shane West Paradise, but that was no good for the rest of it. If you do, please let me know – it's kind of integral to the story! (Oh, and we don't know Brett's last name, do we? Anyway, I don't, so I made it up. If you know otherwise, please correct me.)

For the next few days, Ray did his best to be at the apartment as infrequently as possible. He managed to pick up a couple of extra shifts, although the hospital was no real haven – in the absence of anything else to do, Michael seemed to be hanging around there a lot – and he divided his nights between the sofas of both the call room and Brett's apartment. Neither were at the cutting edge of comfort and if it hadn't been for a nightly overconsumption of alcohol, well, when he was at Brett's anyway, he didn't think he would have slept at all. On reflection though, the pain in his back was nothing compared to the crushing agony of his heart every time he thought of Neela.

He was lying on the sofa at Brett's – fractionally the more comfortable – and dozing one morning after an unusually busy night shift, when the phone rang. He never answered it, just in case it was Neela. He hadn't told her he was here, and he'd gotten Brett to lie for him on the two occasions she had called, but it didn't take a lot of guesswork. She'd tried to talk to him a couple of times at work, to persuade him to come home. She'd been cornering him where it was quiet and they wouldn't be overheard, the doctor's lounge when it was empty, the shower the other morning after some kid puked on him, but he still felt too raw, and he'd been deliberately cold and evasive. It wouldn't be for long, he told himself. Her and Michael would have soon found a place of their own and he could return home in peace.

'Brett, get your ass out of bed. The phone's ringing,' he called out.

'Answer it yourself, you pussy.' A voice, croaky from a night of too much beer and too many cigarettes came from the bedroom.

'Just do it,' Ray said wearily.

There was a frustrated groan, and then Ray heard heavy footsteps thundering across the bedroom towards the lounge. Brett grabbed the phone just as the answering machine was clicking in.

'Hello. Hello?' There was a short pause. 'Yep, this is Brett Johnson. Sorry, who is this?'

Ray had shut his eyes and retreated back under the moth eaten duvet Brett had provided for him when he had heard Brett coming out of his room, but there was something unusual about his friend's voice. He sat up.

'_You're kidding me?!_ No, no, that would be… Man, are you serious? Honestly? _California_?'

Ray sat up a little straighter. It wasn't Neela, and he hated that even though he didn't want to speak to her and had been pushing her away, he felt the disappointment that it wasn't her calling hit him like a glass of cold water. It did sound as it was someone interesting though.

'No, no, we'd be… Yep, I'll call you as soon as I've spoken to everyone. No, we can be on a plane as soon as… Hell yeah we're serious about this. You need to know by tomorrow? Sure, no problem.'

Brett put the phone back in it's cradle, and sat on Ray's legs with an expression on his face as if he'd just been clubbed over the head. His eyes were a little vacant, and he kept looking back at the phone as if he wasn't entirely certain whether or not to believe what he had just heard.

When, after a short while, it became clear to Ray that Brett was neither going to shift from his position, perfectly placed to completely cut off the blood supply to Ray's lower legs, or tell him what the Hell was going on, Ray decided to speak. 'Who was that?'

There wasn't the slightest reaction from Brett, except another open mouthed gape at the phone. Ray picked one of his shoes off the floor and threw it at his friend. 'Dude, who _was _that?'

Finally, Brett blinked and looked round at him. 'That was… wow. The band's been invited to L.A., to play a couple of gigs. Recording at Venice Beach if they like us.'

Ray understood what the blank staring had been for then. In fact, he thought he might be doing the same thing. 'California? Gigs? Venice Beach?' he echoed. Brett nodded. 'Jesus man, that's…'

_That's just what I need right now_, he thought to himself. I need to get away, just for a month or so. Play some music, realise a few dreams. Hang out with some Californian chicks, and take my mind off… this whole damn mess here. It couldn't have come at a better time for me. And as for the prospect of actually recording some stuff in California, where the right people could really hear it; well, that was just… He was speechless.

And as for Neela… well, he had survived for two weeks without seeing her when she was on her damn honeymoon, he was sure he would handle a month in the bright lights of Los Angeles. If she didn't like it, then hard luck. She'd made her fucking decision.

In his sudden flare of anger at her, he almost believed himself.

After a minute or two, he realised the crushing weight that had been pinning his legs to the sofa had lifted, and then Brett reappeared from the kitchen with a couple of bottles of beer. Apparently nine o'clock in the morning wasn't too early for a celebration for Brett. Ray eyed the bottle thoughtfully for a minute. Ah, what the Hell, he decided. He had a day off, and for the first time in weeks, he actually had something to celebrate. He reached out and took the proffered bottle, flipping the lid expertly, and taking a good gulp.

'California?' he repeated.

'California,' Brett confirmed. Brett looked at Ray as they sat in companionable shock drinking beer. Ray hadn't said much at all about it, other than that one, brief outburst that night at Ike's when Neela was on honeymoon, but Brett knew that his friend was cut up about what had happened far more than he was prepared to admit.

Brett didn't quite understand it, personally. Ray and Neela had been living together for a year, cooped up in that apartment. Ray must have had hundreds, _thousands _of opportunities to make a move on Neela, opportunities that Brett himself would have given his right arm for (well, maybe not an arm, too difficult to play the guitar, but probably a leg), but he had never taken one of them.

Brett knew he hadn't, because you'd have been able to see it on their faces. Neela was crazy about Ray, anyone could see that. That was why he was so damn confused about the wedding. It wasn't exactly like careful, sensible Doctor Neela to up and marry some guy she hardly knew, and the moment she had done so, Ray had practically gone into mourning. He might not know much, but Brett wasn't stupid, there was a lot more going on than met the eye.

That was why he'd have rather Ray hadn't been here when that call just came. If Ray was to leave Chicago now, it would be no better than running away. That might be okay for losers like him, but it wasn't Ray's style. It was bad enough that he was camping out here when he had a perfectly good apartment that he was simply too much of a coward to go home to. He knew it was none of his business really, and Ray wasn't the talking type, there was no chance at all of getting out of him what had really happened, but Brett didn't feel he could sit around and let his friend descend into the pit of misery he seemed to be sliding into at the moment. All Ray seemed to be doing was working, drinking or sleeping. Except he doubted he slept. On the nights he had stayed over, Brett had often been woken by the sound of him pacing up and down, glasses of water being run in the kitchen, and, once, the World Poker Tour on the television.

It would be weird not having him in California, and not good weird, but sometimes things had to be done that people didn't like if they were for the best. Ray seemed to be speaking, and Brett tuned back in.

'I'm not sure how easy it will be to get time off, but hey, this is more important, right? This is the chance of a lifetime.'

'Yeah, it is,' Brett agreed slowly. 'But you won't do anything… drastic, before the whole band's discussed things, will you?' He couldn't exactly throw him out without talking it through with the others, but he was pretty sure they'd agree. Nick had been bleating the other day that Ray seemed to have less and less time for the band anyway, with the whole being a doctor thing.

'What?' Ray sounded confused. 'I'll just ask Weaver for some time off. It'll be fine, don't sweat it.'

Brett wondered whether or not he should broach the subject of Neela. He hadn't been particularly successful last time he tried, and hadn't had the courage to since. 'What, umm… what do you think… Neela might say?' he said tentatively.

Ray's hand clenched into a fist around the neck of the beer bottle, his knuckles whitening, and a muscle began to jump in his jaw. 'I think she forfeited the right to comment when she got married,' he said tightly.

'Look, dude, can I ask –'

'No, you can't.' There was a finality in Ray's voice, and Brett knew him well enough to drop it.

Neela was up on the roof of the hospital. She'd sort of been hoping that Ray might have been up here. When he used to live in the call room, back in the early days, he had spent a lot of time on the roof, and as Brett had flatly denied – twice – that Ray was with him, he must be sleeping in the hospital again. Not that she entirely trusted Brett's word; she didn't doubt he'd lie for Ray if he was asked to, but last time she'd been in the call room herself, it had been in the sort of mess that only Ray was capable of leaving a room in. She should know, she'd had to tidy up after him enough times.

He wasn't here though; there was no sign of him. She had really wanted to talk to him. This wall of silence, or at best, cold politeness, that he seemed to have erected between them was killing her. She wanted, desperately, to make some sort of decision about the baby, but the longer Ray was behaving as he was, the more and more it looked like the decision was being made for her.

The trouble was, she didn't think that was the outcome she wanted. This had all come at the wrong time, in the wrong circumstances, but there was a tiny bit of her that just couldn't quite bring herself to kill that life inside her, the living evidence of hers and Ray's passion. She _needed _to talk to him.

Until she had spoken to Ray, been honest with him, she couldn't have the conversation she needed to with Michael. It wasn't that she was keeping her options open, although she was aware that was how it would look to the outsider. It was… She loved Michael, she really did, but she couldn't help but think that she and Ray could have something… _perfect _if only she could find the courage to be honest, and if he had the heart to forgive her. If she couldn't have perfect though, and she had never been a great romantic, then she wanted to make her marriage work with Michael.

She played her thoughts back to herself in her head. God, she sounded selfish, she thought in disgust. There was an old soda can lying on the ground, and, in an uncharacteristic gesture, she gave it a sharp, frustrated kick.

'Whatever's the matter, it's not that can's fault.'

Neela spun around.

'Abby, I… It's cold, I didn't think anyone else would be up here,' she lied.

Abby gave her a sceptical look. She wasn't fooled by the lie; Abby knew both her and Ray well enough to have noticed the estrangement, although they had both been studiously careful to speak to each other as normal in front of people.

'Didn't you?' For a moment, Abby looked as if she was going to say more, but at the last second, she appeared to change her mind, and looked out over the snowy city. 'Hard to believe that there's so much death and violence going on out there, isn't it?'

Neela had been expecting some sort of comment on the beauty of the city in the snow, and she was taken aback by the starkness of her friend's statement.

Before all this, Neela might have disagreed, but she was in a sufficiently maudlin mood to concur. 'Death, violence, despair. Barrel of laughs we have every day, isn't it.'

Like kicking the soda can, such a cynical statement was out of character for Neela, and Abby's sharp brown eyes fixed on her again. 'Why is Ray sleeping in the call room?'

She was tempted to jump down Abby's throat with an instant denial, but she knew that was a sure path to disaster. Her head was telling her to stay calm, to brazen out Abby's questioning just as she had on the morning of the wedding, but her heart was crying out to share its burden. She took a deep breath. 'Just giving Michael and I a bit of privacy I guess. Can't be much fun sharing the apartment with a pair of newlyweds,' she said blandly. 'We're looking for a new place, it shouldn't be for much longer.'

'You didn't ask him to leave, did you?'

'Of course not.' Neela sounded shocked, and a little indignant at the accusation. 'It's his apartment, I'd never throw him out.'

'Okay, okay.' She held her hands up, retreating.

Abby wasn't in the mood for a row, so she let the matter drop. She'd been up since five o'clock this morning; morning sickness was a bitch. She didn't know that the woman she'd come up to the roof to find was contemplating the same dilemma as she was.

She knew Luka wanted her to have the baby. He'd confessed a little while ago that one of the reasons he and Sam had broken up was her refusal to have more children. But the prospect of it, even with his support, was just terrifying. She wasn't ready to be a mother, she couldn't take care of a baby. Sometimes she doubted she could even look after herself – she could barely make a piece of toast without setting fire to the toaster. And this pregnancy thing was taking it out of her. The nausea, combined with the lack of sleep from worrying, had left her with gaunt features and dark circles under her eyes.

Funnily enough, as she looked across at Neela, she noticed the same look on her face. It didn't cross her mind though, that it might be for the same reason. But it was obvious there was something amiss.

'Neela, if there was something wrong, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?' she asked earnestly.

Neela looked at her, unblinking. 'Of course,' she lied smoothly.


	15. Something drastic

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Thank you as ever for the reviews for the last chapter. I still haven't been able to find a clip of Michael telling Neela he is planning to go back to Iraq, and I'm drawing closer to that point now so unfortunately I'm just going to have to make it up unless anyone can point me in the right direction, which I'm a bit disappointed about; hope you don't mind. Not sure about this chapter, at the moment, I'm wading through treacle plot-wise on this story, I'm trusting the story to pull itself through. So much for the short, five chapter prequel I was intending this to be!

Neela was walking down the corridor with Morris, talking about surgery and how much she was hoping to get an elective in it, when she saw Ray. He was standing, leaning against the desk, looking a little like he was in shock. He was staring at his hands blankly, and didn't look up when they were coming towards him. Instantly, she knew there was something wrong and she wished fervently that Morris wasn't with her.

'Dude, are you all right?' Morris asked before she could say anything.

'Uh, I think I just quit.'

_Quit? _

At first, Neela wasn't sure if she had heard him correctly. He loved his job, he wouldn't just quit, no matter how difficult things were. But then she looked at him more closely and she knew he wasn't joking. His hazel eyes were wide, as if he was still processing what he had done, and she felt a huge black abyss opening at her feet.

Had she done this? Was he doing this because of her? Because if he was, because if he felt he had to leave because of the way things were between them, she was _never _going to be able to tell him about the baby. Her very worst fear was that he would feel trapped into something he didn't want, feel forced to stay with her just because of the baby. If she told him now, that was what would happen.

She felt herself fall into the abyss, spiralling downwards. What would she do without him? Even with Michael, she couldn't imagine, she _didn't want _to imagine her life without Ray in it. She felt an overwhelming desire to cling to him, to tell him she was wrong, that she wanted him to stay, that she needed him. That she and the baby needed him…To _beg_ him to stay.

She staggered, unsteady on her feet, as her head swam, and Morris reached out to catch her. 'Hey, Neela, are you all right?'

Ray seemed to come out of his reverie and was looking across at them. His face was impassive but his eyes were full of concern. 'I… I'm fine,' Neela said, determinedly keeping her eyes on Morris. 'I just, I must have tripped.'

Morris looked at the floor. 'Are you sure Neela? There isn't anything here to trip over.' For someone usually so oblivious, Morris could be annoyingly sharp at times. She could feel Ray's gaze boring into her as Morris was still going on. 'You seemed like you blacked out for a moment there.'

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ray take half a step towards her. 'No, no, it wasn't that. I just fell over my own feet, that's all,' she said in as breezy a voice as she could muster. 'You know how clumsy I can be.'

There must have been something in her words or her tone that struck the right note as Morris stopped questioning her, and Ray retreated that half step. She wished he hadn't, although now she was scared to talk to him, not wanting to hear what he might have to say about his departure, not wanting to hear it confirmed. She accepted Morris's chivalrously offered arm, pretending to laugh at her clumsiness, and forced herself to walk away from him.

Ray watched her as she carried on down the corridor with Morris. Just for a moment, he let his eyes drink in the sway of her hips, the way her curls bounced a little on her shoulders as she walked. He wondered how he had never noticed how perfect she was. Then he tore his eyes away from her.

He tried to wrestle his thoughts back to L.A., the band, the prospect of fame and fortune, but his mind refused firmly to oblige. He had a niggling feeling that there was something wrong with Neela. She looked a little paler than normal, maybe even gaunt, with shadows under her eyes and no shine to her raven black hair. And then there was just now. Despite the considerable evidence available to suggest the contrary, Ray knew Morris wasn't stupid. He was the Chief Resident for God's sake, he knew the difference between someone standing right next to him tripping over and them blacking out.

Why the Hell would Neela be blacking out? It just didn't make sense, he couldn't figure it out at all. He was about to go after her when his cell started buzzing in his pocket. He drew it out.

'Brett, I've got good news, well, good news as far as –' Ray began, but he was cut off almost immediately.

'Ray, have you got a break coming up or something?'

'A break? What? Why?'

'In your shift. To go and grab a coffee or whatever?'

Ray frowned in confusion but shrugged. 'Yeah, sure. It's not too busy here, when do you want to meet?'

'Ten minutes? I'll come to you.'

Ray was standing outside the hospital, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his coat to keep out the cold, a short time later, when he saw Brett crossing the street towards him. He went over to meet him.

'Hey, good news. I'm all clear to come with you.'

There was something in Ray's eyes that warned Brett that his friend was holding something back. 'You didn't… do anything drastic did you? Remember what I said, before I – we – talked to everyone about it.'

'What are you talking about?' Ray asked warily. There was something not right about this, it wasn't like Brett, no, it wasn't _remotely _like Brett, to be evasive, secretive. He had always been upfront, honest, blunt even; it was an integral part of his personality.

'Well,' Brett began awkwardly, opening the door of the café and stepping in out of the cold. 'The… the band's been talking, and we were kind of thinking about… moving in a different direction.'

'I don't understand,' Ray said flatly. And he didn't, he didn't get what his friend was trying to tell him.

'Man, I'm really sorry. We've all agreed.' _Well, I suggested, and railroaded the others into acquiescence. _'You've not had as much time for the band recently with work and all. We're gonna… move on without you.'

Ray stopped in the doorway, stunned to speechlessness. He didn't think he'd just heard correctly. Because he could have _sworn _that he had just quit his job to go to L.A., and now Brett was throwing him out of the band for lack of commitment. And that just wasn't possible. That simply couldn't be happening. His life, he had decided, seemed to split fairly evenly into three main components that he cared out – his music, his work, and _her. _And unless he was very much mistaken, he had just lost them _all. _

'Brett…?' he croaked, somehow managing to force a sound out of his suddenly bone dry throat.

Brett looked back at Ray, still frozen in the doorway. He could leave it like this, let Ray think he was being chucked out because he missed a few practises while he was too busy saving lives, but it didn't seem fair somehow. It needed more explanation. And maybe, just maybe, it would give Brett an opportunity to have another go at broaching the subject of Neela.

He stepped back towards the door, and grabbed at the sleeve of Ray's coat, pulling him inside. 'Come on, what do you want? My shout.'

If he hadn't already been in shock, Ray thought he might have keeled over at hearing the words _my shout _coming from Brett's lips, but he was still utterly numb. 'Umm, Americano. Double shot. Thanks,' he said weakly.

Brett turned to the woman behind the counter. 'Americano, double shot, for my man here, and a latte please.' He drew a few dollar bills out of his pocket, and made up the rest by counting out small change. Typical Brett.

The woman gave him an icy look in return for the collection of coins he pushed towards her. 'Take a seat sir, someone will bring them over to you.'

By the time the coffees had arrived, Ray had recovered enough to regain his power of speech. 'Are you serious?' he asked, as calmly as he was able.

Brett took a sip from his mug. 'Yes. Sorry.'

'I still don't get it. It's not a question of commitment, I've got the time off. Hell, I've _quit _so I could have the time off. And now you tell me you don't need me.'

Brett groaned quietly. He had had a feeling for some reason that Ray would pull an extreme stunt like this. He seemed to be in that sort of unpredictable mood lately. He felt immensely guilty for what he was doing, but he was determined not to cave. He might have to do a bit of explaining though.

'Look, I wish it wasn't like this, but…'

As his friend squirmed awkwardly, Ray realised there was more to this than Brett was admitting. 'What is it like Brett?' he bit out sarcastically. 'You couldn't do me a favour and explain it to me, could you? Because I'm having trouble getting my head around this. There's something you're not telling me.'

Brett threw up his hands in defeat. 'All right, all right.' A quick look of triumph flitted across Ray's face before he slipped back into concentration. 'It was me, okay? It was me who said you shouldn't go.'

That feeling of numb shock filtered back through Ray's veins, quickly replaced by a flare of white hot anger. 'Why the _Hell _would you say that?' he hissed, eyes narrow.

Brett sighed. It was now or never. 'Because if you go to L.A., you'd be running away, and you're better than that man.' He braced himself for the angry tirade, maybe even a punch. He'd never seen Ray lose his temper or show any signs of violence, but the Ray that was on show these days was a whole different person than the laid back, uncomplicated guy he had known for the last ten years. He watched Ray carefully, ready to duck if he had to.

What he wasn't prepared for was for him to sink his head into his hands with a quiet, anguished groan, and a few mumbled words too low to make out.

'What was that?'

Slowly, Ray looked up, and to Brett's utter shock, there was the hint of tears in his friend's eyes. 'I said, what if I've got to run away?'

'Huh?' Brett was nonplussed.

'What if I've got to run away? What if I don't know what the Hell else I can do?' There was an unfamiliar note of desperation in Ray's voice that Brett didn't think he had ever heard before.

'Got to… Dude, what are you talking about? What have you done?' Although he asked the question, Brett had a feeling at last, he was getting close to the truth. And he _knew _it was something to do with Neela.

Ray met Brett's grey gaze steadily. His promise to Neela not to tell anyone what had happened – she had even gone as far as specifying Brett – echoed in his mind, but Brett would be gone by morning. Surely it wouldn't matter then, would it?

'I've…' He tried, he tried as hard as he could to force the words out, but the promise made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as if it had been cursed. 'I can't tell you,' he sighed.

'No way, you're not getting away with that,' Brett replied shortly. 'This is to do with Doctor Neela, I know it. You've been acting weirdly ever since she got married.'

'I can't tell you,' he repeated, a little more sure of himself the second time.

'Why not?' Brett was determined not to let Ray succeed in stonewalling him out. 'Ray, for fuck's sake, I don't know what's going on with you and Neela at the moment, but whatever it is, I know it's bad. And you've gotta sort it out. That's why I don't want you to come to L.A. You… belong here.'

'I…' Deep down, he knew Brett was right. Running away was a coward's way out. But what else could he do? He never said he wasn't a coward. 'Are you sure man? Because the way I see it, I don't have a whole lot to hang around here for.'

Brett gave him a long look. 'I've seen the way she looks at you Ray. I'm sure.'


	16. Secrets

Disclaimer: As before. Neela's patient in this chapter, Amanda Ramsey, is straight out of the show; she was the patient Neela and Luka were treating in the episode, If Not Now, which is where this story has now reached. I've reinvented the details, because I can't quite remember, but the basics come from the show.

Author's Note: Well, this is it. This will be my last update before the big move. I should have the internet organised by the end of the month, but it's unlikely to be much before that, so please be patient. I promise lots of updates the moment I get connected! In the meantime, please leave me a review – just because I won't be able to read it for a fortnight is no excuse not to click that little button!

Neela had to get away from people for a few minutes; she needed to absorb Ray's revelation. No doubt Morris would be already dashing about, spreading the news, and she couldn't bear people's reactions, questions, the inevitable presumption that she would know what was going on. She worried then that perhaps what she was most hurt about was that he hadn't viewed her as being important enough to him to tell separately from everyone else, but on reflection, it wasn't that. She wasn't being that self-absorbed; she was simply terrified at losing him.

She wasn't sure if it was the shock or the pregnancy, but she was feeling dizzy again, and nauseous – morning sickness wasn't limited to the mornings apparently – and unsteadily she went to run herself a glass of water. She sat on the sofa and took a sip of the water, then leaned forward to put her head between the knees until the faintness passed.

_Uh, I think I just quit. _

His words echoed in her head like a death knell. Well, they were a death knell for the life inside her. If there was no Ray, there just couldn't be a baby. But… why would be just quit? She didn't want to be as narcissistic as to assume it was to do with her, but what else could it be? Perhaps a year ago, when Ray was irresponsible, thoughtless, treating medicine as a day job, then she might have believed he would have quit, but not now, not this Ray.

He had changed so much. He was a different person now, and she wished she could find some way of telling him how proud she was of the doctor and man he had become. There were a lot of things she wished now that she could find the words for, but she hadn't known how, and now it looked like it was going to be too late.

And that's even if he would deign to listen to her, which somehow she doubted. He'd been so studiously avoiding her lately that she'd been half surprised when she had seen him in the corridor that he hadn't plain walked away from her. If she'd have tried to talk directly to him, he probably would have done, she thought. But she wasn't fooled by his cold demeanour, not truly. She'd seen the flash of concern pass across his face when she'd momentarily blacked out just then, the slight step forwards as if he couldn't stop himself from going to help her.

If he cared so much, why wouldn't he just talk to her?

And it wasn't just Ray. There was something wrong with Michael at the moment as well. She knew, instinctively, that there was something he wasn't telling her. At first, she had thought it was going to be a surprise, like he had found them an apartment of their own, or booked a holiday for them in the summer, but over the last couple of days, as he had become increasingly quiet and brooding, the hope she was harbouring of something pleasant had begun to dwindle, then fade, now standing almost at nothing.

Her initial instinct, naturally, was that he _knew_, but it couldn't be that. Michael was straightforward, upfront, and if he thought there was something amiss, he'd be the first to confront her, to demand a straight answer. But if it wasn't that he was suspicious about her and Ray, what was it? What else did Michael have to be worrying about?

Briefly, the thought occurred to her, just as it had the night of their wedding, when they had ridden home on the El in cold and unfeeling silence that perhaps he had a missed opportunity, a regret, that was haunting him, but when he looked at her with such strong love in his eyes, she didn't think a person in love with someone else could be capable of producing that expression. She knew she wasn't half as convincing, although Michael seemed blind to it.

She looked at her watch; much as she would like to, she couldn't stay hiding in here all day. The five minutes of peace and quiet helped, and the shock of what Ray had said was wearing off a little now, although she was no less upset about it, and as soon as she was absolutely sure she wasn't going to be sick, or faint again, she went back out into the fray.

She kept her eyes open for Ray, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she tried her best to put him to the back of her mind, at least for now. Tonight, both she and Ray were off and Michael was going out to meet a friend – she was meant to be accompanying him but it would be easy to make an excuse – so she would have ample opportunity to track Ray down and _force _him to talk to her, but right now, she was at work, and she knew she had to focus.

She selected another chart; she had a couple on the board already, and went to find her patient. That was the amazing thing about being a doctor; it didn't matter how much you had on your mind, there were always people out there who needed your help, and their problems, whatever they were, were a fantastic distraction from your own. You could immerse yourself in them, their injuries or their symptoms, and focus all your thoughts and energies into figuring out what was going on in their bodies and their minds, and what you could do to fix it, or at least make it better.

If she was hoping for such an escape today though, she was going to be disappointed. Reading the chart in her hand, she saw that the patient she had chosen was a fifteen year old girl who was complaining of nausea and dizziness. She'd blacked out at school.

'All right Amanda. I'm Doctor Rasgotra, and I'll be trying to find out what's the matter with you. Now, here it says you fainted at school today.'

'Umm, yes, that's right.'

'Okay, was that the first time it's happened?' She looked at the girl as she asked her; she looked pale and wan. There was definitely something wrong with her; fifteen year old girls were meant to look a lot healthier than this poor kid did.

'Yes. I'm not normally like this. I've been having dizzy spells and I'm not really feeling myself.' _Oh yeah, tell me about it_, Neela thought to herself.

She did a quick check of her vitals, pulse, temperature; the basics, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. 'Amanda, I would like to run a few tests to see what might be wrong with you. I'll want blood and urine samples, is that okay?' She recognised the girl's symptoms well enough – she was experiencing them herself, but as she was a minor, there was no point in airing her suspicions until she had confirmed it with tests.

The girl shrugged. 'Yeah, sure.'

'Thank you. Now, is there anyone you would like me to call for you?'

'Oh no, the school called my parents, they're on their way in now.'

'Okay, I'll make sure they're shown in to you as soon as they arrive. Now, let's have an arm please, so I can take some blood.'

Once she had what she needed to send off to the lab, Neela went to find Luka. She had a couple of patients on the go that she needed to present. She ran quickly through the first two – a skateboarding kid with a suspected broken ankle awaiting a radiology slot, and a drunk with a minor head lac – before getting on to Amanda.

'…And a fifteen year old girl who fainted at school. Some dizziness and nausea; pulse, temperature normal. I've sent blood and urine samples off to the lab, but it looks like early stages of pregnancy. I've also ordered a CBC to look for anaemia et cetera, but it seems straightforward. I haven't said anything to her yet though, I thought it would be better to wait until it was confirmed.'

Luka perused the charts she had offered him, and, nodding, signed off on the two simpler ones. 'Good work on these two Neela. And come and find me when you've got the results back for Amanda Ramsey. Does she have a parent or guardian with her?'

'She said her parents were on their way.'

'All right. Keep me informed.'

Neela agreed to do so, then Luka handed her back her charts, and disappeared. For a moment, Neela looked at Amanda Ramsey's chart and read, in her own handwriting, the words _suspected pregnancy. _Stark, simple, and life changing.

Except this wasn't going to change her life, not now, not without the possibility of Ray being involved. Once again, she laid the palm of her hand on her stomach. It was as if her hand was magnetically drawn to it. She was finding it increasingly difficult not to touch it, as if she wanted to make the most of the feeling of life inside her before it was gone forever.

Quickly, she glanced around her. For once, there didn't seem to be anyone about, even Jerry had disappeared somewhere. Rifling in a drawer, she found the list of direct dial numbers for the hospital phone lines. She trailed her finger down the list. 'Doctor… Doctor Anspaugh, Doctor Carter – do they never update this thing?' she muttered to herself. Then her finger found the name she was looking for. 'Doctor Coburn.'

Right then, a voice sounded in her ear, and she jumped.

'What are you looking for?'

'Oh, Abby. You… umm… made me jump.' Surreptitiously, she tried to pull a piece of paper over the list of telephone numbers.

'Clearly,' Abby said, before giving her a questioning look. Neela knew she must look guilty; damn her for always being such an open bloody book. 'Whose number are you looking up?' Abby repeated.

'Oh, Doctor Coburn. I've got a suspected teenage pregnancy, when I confirm it I expect she'll want to uh, know her options.'

'I see.' Again, that suspicious glance Abby had given her up on the roof earlier, the knowledge that she was being lied to plain in her eyes, but unable to work out the reason for the lie, or the truth behind it. If she had been keeping the baby, it would have only been a matter of time until her secret was out, and knowing Abby's perceptiveness, she would be discovered sooner rather than later, but now it was going, she'd never have to tell a soul.

'I've got the number of her clinic if you need that one as well,' Abby said quickly, without thinking.

'Why do you have the number of her clinic?' Neela asked. 'What would you need that for?'

'Oh, uhh…' Abby realised too late what she had said. Her only saving grace might be that Neela had been so absent, withdrawn, since her honeymoon that she might not notice or care enough that she was being spun a lie. 'A patient asked me to find it out for her.'

'Oh right. Um, yes, if I could have it?'

'Sure.' Abby pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and passed it to Neela. Fleetingly, she wondered if Neela did indeed want it for a patient – it was the excuse she had used; might Neela be lying as well? But if she did need the number for herself, that would mean Neela was pregnant, and that was just… ridiculous. Impossible. Clever, careful Neela was far too smart to get herself into the same trouble as she had.

Well, hers was a trouble that would be gone by this evening. Her shift ended in half an hour, then she had an appointment with Coburn. Then this would all be over, the nausea, the worry, and probably her relationship with Luka, once again. She was too busy thinking of that to notice Neela's hand resting over her stomach as she walked away.


	17. A clouding of judgement

Disclaimer: As before. Some of the dialogue between Neela and Mr Ramsey, and Neela and Luka comes straight from the show.

Author's Note: Surprise update!! Gorgeous and fabulous though my new flat is, I decided that sitting there on my own over the bank holiday weekend might be more than a tad dull, so I packed up my little car with all the empty boxes and rubbish I didn't want, and hightailed off back to my parents' house where free food and internet abounds. I'm not sure how much I like this chapter, but it's very much based on the show, and it's a tool for a nice bit of angst in the next chapter.

'Neela, test results back for your nausea and dizziness girl in two.'

'Oh, thanks Jerry.' She was back at the admit desk now. She'd had to get away from Abby before she said or did something to give herself away. Even though Abby had seemed strangely absent, she wasn't stupid. She reached out and took the slip of paper from Jerry. It confirmed her suspicions.

'Luka, Luka I've got the results back on Amanda Ramsey. She is pregnant.'

Luka, who was rubbing off a couple of names from the board, turned around at the sound of Neela's voice. 'Okay. No surprises there then. The tests didn't throw up anything else, did they?'

'No.'

Now, she was fifteen, wasn't she?'

Neela nodded.

'You might want to break it to her without her parents around. See what information you can find out, if the sex was consensual. She is a minor, so keep your eyes open to any signs of abuse. Are you all right to handle this one Neela?'

She wavered. The professional part of her was trying it's hardest to say yes, but she wasn't sure if she could. She honestly didn't know if she was able to sit down with this girl, possibly her parents as well, and dispassionately explain the situation, list her options, without allowing herself to be coloured by her own personal circumstances. It wouldn't be fair to Amanda if she did, but nor could she ask someone else to take the case without an explanation.

Luka would take over if she asked him to. He was the attending on the case; it would be no great step for him to run it himself. And Luka would be discreet if she told him; he would agree with her that it was for the good of the patient that Neela stepped back, and say no more about their conversation.

She took a deep, calming breath, mentally shaking herself. She was a doctor for goodness' sake, she was as perfectly capable of dealing with a relatively uncomplicated case such as this as she had been a month ago, before this whole mess had occurred. Simply being pregnant would _not _cloud her judgement or affect her medical ability. She wasn't going to let it.

'Yes, of course Luka. I'll page you if I need some assistance.'

She returned to her patient, and asked if she could sit down, giving the girl a small smile, trying to make her eyes kind. When Amanda acquiesced, Neela perched herself on the edge of the bed and met her worried gaze. 'Amanda, I've got your test results back. Are your parents here yet?'

'Yes, they're just getting some coffee. Do they have to be here before you talk to me?'

'No, not if you don't want them to be.'

'I, umm…' She looked indecisive for a moment, and then appeared to make her mind up. 'They could be a while, they only just left. I think I'd rather you just told me.'

Neela was relieved. It would be a lot easier talking to the girl on her own, and in situations like these, you often got a lot closer to the truth of things without the parents around. 'Okay, that's fine. Now Amanda,' she said in a gentle tone, 'the results of the tests that were carried out show that you are pregnant.'

Her heart went out to her. The poor girl's face drained of the little colour it had, and tears sprang to her eyes. She was fingering a simple silver cross on a thin chain around her neck. 'But… But I _can't _be.'

Neela wasn't sure if it was simply the shock that had brought about the denial, or something more sinister. It wouldn't be impossible; she could have been raped using Rohypnol or another drug. You would expect realisation of something wrong the next morning, even if the memory never returned, but you couldn't rule it out.

'What do you mean, Amanda, that you can't be?' she asked delicately.

'I just _can't _be. I… I only did it once, at a party,' she said in an anguished voice.

Neela believed her. She didn't have the look of some of the young madams who came in, she wore no make up and what Neela's mother would call sensible shoes. You could always judge a woman, even a young one, by her shoes, she said.

It didn't sound like an abuse case, or anything untoward either. Amanda Ramsey was the victim of bad luck, nothing more, and nothing less. It was a feeling that Neela knew only too well, and it most certainly didn't make it a less bitter pill to swallow. In fact, sometimes she thought the fact that it might have been avoidable, that everything was in tatters simply because of her own stupidity, made it all so much worse. She tore herself away from her own thoughts as Amanda continued to speak.

'I was drunk, I don't even remember who he was.' Then her face changed again as a new horror hit her. 'Oh God, my parents. _My parents. _What are they going to say?'

'I… I can stay and help you tell them if you would like me to,' she offered.

'Thank you… But how can I tell them? They – they love me so much. They're going to be so disappointed in me, aren't they?'

Neela skirted around the question. Having not met Mr and Mrs Ramsey, she couldn't comment on their likely reaction, and even if she had, she wouldn't presume to say. Her role, as Amanda's doctor, was to explain things, to lay out all her options.

'Amanda, you need to consider your options. You say you only had sex once, so that must have been when you became pregnant. How long ago was it?'

'Umm, a month ago I guess.'

'All right. Have you missed a period?'

She nodded. 'I was only due a week ago, and I've been ill, so I thought I was late because of that. I never even thought…' Slowly, as if the magnitude of what was happening to her was sinking further in by the minute, Amanda's face began to crumple, and great fat tears started to leak out from her eyes. Feeling a level of empathy that she would not have been able to conjure until so very recently, Neela was on the verge of giving her a hug – against protocol of course, but you would have to have a heart of stone not to.

Before she had a chance to though, the curtain twitched back and a smart, plain couple in early middle age came in. Neela rose to her feet, seeing out of the corner of her eye Amanda swiping away at the tears on her cheeks.

'Mr and Mrs Ramsey, I'm Doctor Rasgotra, I've been taking care of your daughter.' She extended her hand to each of them, and they both shook it quickly. 'Now, if you would –'

'Amanda said you were doing some tests to find out why she fainted,' Mrs Ramsey cut in. She was wringing her hands anxiously, looking the picture of the caring, worried mother. 'Have you got the results yet?'

'Yes, I have.'

'Well?' Mr Ramsey asked a little impatiently, though Neela sensed it was from concern rather than anything else.

Neela glanced down at Amanda briefly. She couldn't repeat the offer she had earlier made in front of the parents, but she did her best to ask with her eyes whether Amanda still wanted her to stay. She was obviously quick on the uptake, and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

'The test results show,' Neela began in an even voice, 'that Amanda is pregnant.'

If Amanda had looked shocked, it was nothing compared to the look that passed over her parents' faces. An absolutely stunned expression burst onto their faces and for a very long moment, neither seemed to be able to find any words at all.

Then Mr Ramsey shook his head. 'No, I don't think so.' His voice was tight, as if he was expending every ounce of energy in controlling himself.

'I'm sorry Mr Ramsey, but the test results –'

'Then I don't believe your test results. With the greatest respect Doctor Rasgotra, you're wrong.'

Neela sighed inwardly. Obviously Amanda was right to have been nervous about this moment. 'I appreciate that this is very difficult news for you to take…'

'No,' he replied precisely, 'it is not difficult for me to take. It is impossible. I know my own daughter Doctor, she's only fifteen. She's a good girl. She just wouldn't have…' He turned to the bed. 'You tell her Amanda,' he prompted, 'tell her she's wrong.'

Under her father's gaze, Amanda couldn't meet his eyes. Then, in a very quiet voice, full of shame, she said, 'I'm so sorry Daddy.'

'What – what are you talking about?'

Amanda was crying again and Neela passed her a tissue. To try to divert the attention away from the distraught girl for a moment, she said, 'Mr and Mrs Ramsey, I'm very sorry that this has been such a shock to you. You've come back at just the right time though, I was about to run through with Amanda the options she has now.'

'Options?' Mrs Ramsey spoke for the first time since the bombshell. 'I don't understand you. What options?' She looked utterly confused as to what Neela might mean.

'Well, I've spoken to Amanda, and she's about four weeks pregnant. That leaves her with plenty of choices. If she wishes to keep the baby, then if you don't have a family doctor, then we can see here if we can organise some help for her; young mothers often benefit greatly from parenting lessons. However, at four weeks, she still has the choice available to her of whether or not to keep the baby.'

A resounding silence ensued upon the end of her speech. When she realised nobody was going to say anything, she turned to Amanda. She noticed her playing with the cross about her neck again, and when she looked up at Mrs Ramsey, she was a little surprised to see her doing the same. 'Amanda, do you have any thoughts about this? This is your decision after all.'

'I –'

'There's no decision to be made,' her father cut across her. 'We are a religious family. Abortion, which I presume is what you're suggesting Doctor Rasgotra, is a terrible sin. Amanda will be having the baby, to countenance anything else is just… I wouldn't allow my daughter to put her immortal soul in such peril.'

Neela looked to the girl, but she seemed frozen, unwilling to disagree with her father. 'Mrs Ramsey?'

She seemed more distressed than her husband, but she didn't hesitate to agree with him. 'My husband is right, there's no question of anything else.'

Neela was annoyed. She wasn't particularly religious so she knew she couldn't really identify with the strong opinions they clearly held, but however hard she tried, she couldn't understand how you could view the matter in such a black and white way. They claimed to be concerned for their daughter's immortal soul but what about this life? If she kept the baby, she would be paying for one drunken teenage mistake for the rest of her life.

'This is a very harrowing situation to find yourselves in, believe me, I understand that, but I really think you should consider the long term implications of what you're suggesting.' She sounded confrontational, and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself. By describing abortion as a terrible sin, unknowingly, Mr Ramsey had slipped in under her defences and caught her exactly where it hurt the most. And she couldn't help but react.

'And _I _think, Doctor Rasgotra,' Mr Ramsey returned in a raised voice, 'that _you _should consider the spiritual implications of what _you're _suggesting.'

Before Neela had the chance to find a comeback, luckily the curtain twitched back again, and Luka was there. He intervened immediately. 'Neela, what's going on here? Amanda, Mr and Mrs Ramsey, I'm Doctor Kovac, the attending overseeing this case, is there anything I can help with here?' His dark eyes had a stern glint in them and Neela knew he had heard the argument. 'Neela?'

'I've given Amanda her tests results and I was just trying to inform her of the options. She's about four weeks so –'

'She was suggesting that our daughter should have an abortion,' Mr Ramsey said in a stony voice. 'We're Catholics Doctor Kovac, devout Catholics, we do not wish to discuss that as a choice.'

'I wasn't _suggesting_ –' she began indignantly.

'Okay, thank you Neela. I've got a six year old boy with a head lac in exam one. Could you go and suture please.'

She gaped at him in shock. 'Are you –?'

'You're off this case Neela, I'll take it from here.' There was a finality in his voice that she knew well enough not to argue with.

When she saw him later though, returning to the admit desk, presumably having come from the Ramseys, she wasn't going to let it lie. 'Luka, can I have a word with you please. About the Amanda Ramsey case.'

'Yes you may. But before you start Neela, I was standing just on the other side of the curtain, talking to Haleh, through most of the conversation. You behaved in a very unprofessional manner. At the end of the day, Amanda is fifteen, and under the guardianship of her parents. You were wrong to question their authority over their daughter.'

'Authority? She's fifteen years old Luka. That's more than old enough to be capable of making her own decisions about her own body. Her parents are _forcing _her to keep a baby she doesn't want.'

Luka was shaking his head disapprovingly. 'You're overstepping the mark, you're getting too involved in the emotional aspect of this situation. Your job was to diagnose the pregnancy and to provide information on the options available to her, which you did. Then you went off the deep end with personal opinions and feelings that you had no business in airing. I thought you were more professional than this.'

_I thought you were more professional than this. _Luka's words stung her. She realised then just how much she had let her emotions get the better of her. It was the one thing she had been determined not to do, she'd told herself this pregnancy, everything with Ray and Michael, did not impair her ability to be a doctor, but it turned out that it had. Badly.

She tried to rein in her temper and calm down, but she was on the defensive. Luka's obvious support of Mr and Mrs Ramsey's viewpoint felt like a personal attack on her own decision. 'I want another attending to review this case. You're a Catholic Luka, I don't think you are capable of judging the case on its merits.' _And neither am I, so Amanda isn't getting the best treatment from either of us. _

'Neela, in terms of my religious beliefs, abortion is a sin, but I am a doctor first and foremost, and I resent, greatly, the implication that I would let, as you appear to have done here, my own opinions cloud my judgement when I am treating a patient.'

'I'm sorry Luka, I…'

He cut her off. He knew it wasn't her fault he was on edge; Abby would be with Doctor Coburn about now, but he needed to take it out on someone, and it was better Neela than a patient. 'No Neela, you've said enough. In fact, go home. You've not been yourself today, there's obviously something on your mind. Make sure by tomorrow morning, whatever it is is gone.'

For a moment, she looked like she was going to shout and rail at him, but after a second's decision, she turned and walked away.


	18. Acceptance

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Here's the next chapter, thank you for the reviews on the last one. Of course, I wrote this quite a few days ago sitting bored in the flat on my own, but I'd still love to hear what you think of it. It's kinda odd reading this again; in my head (and the hard drive of my laptop) the story has moved on a little way, and the more you review, the sooner you get to read it!

She knew that being sent home from work was meant to be a punishment, but every second she had spent there today since she'd heard Ray's news had been torture. Going home was a release. It meant that she might actually be able to straighten out some of the thoughts that were spinning away in her head.

There were so _many _thoughts though. She didn't know how she was ever going to figure out what she was thinking or feeling. There was Ray, Michael, the baby. If there was only one of them that she had to work out somehow, it would be all right, but there wasn't, it was all three of them. They were intrinsically linked, yet each deserved a decision that was made on its own merits, not just as a by product of a decision on something else.

All the way home, on the El, then the walk from the station back to the apartment, Mr Ramsey's words were echoing over and over in her head.

_A terrible sin. _

Was that what it was? Had she been thinking only of herself when she didn't want to keep the baby? She had thought she was making a decision for the good of everyone – it would save her marriage, Ray would carry on with his life unhindered by her, she and Michael could be happy, but Mr Ramsey was right, she'd been thinking about the long term, practicalities, she hadn't been thinking about the spiritual implications. Hadn't she earned herself enough bad karma lately? There was a more important life at stake here than hers.

But… you couldn't just ignore practical things, even if you had belief or faith or something that meant more to you. The reality was that if she had this baby, she'd be doing it alone. Michael would be gone, naturally; she wouldn't expect him to stay when the truth came out, and now Ray was leaving. She hated the idea that just by giving in to her heart over her head, just once, that one night, meant that she had driven away from her the only two men she had ever really loved. She swore, right then, to whatever higher power it was that she didn't believe in, that she would _never _listen to her heart again. Look at all the trouble it caused, for everyone.

She let herself into the apartment, unwinding her scarf from her neck, shedding the outer layers of coats and jumpers. 'Michael, are you here?' she called out as she hung her coat on the peg. 'Michael? Ray?'

There was no answer so she made her way through to the kitchen. She wished someone was there. She had had enough of silence; she needed to talk to someone. She didn't know where Michael could be, he hadn't said he was going to be going out, but the way he had been these last couple of days, she wasn't surprised. A little worried, but not surprised.

She opened the fridge, and screwed up her face in disgust at the contents as she peered into it. She pulled out a couple of cartons of half eaten two day old Chinese, now with a layer of congealed grease lying over it and tossed it into the trash. It was swiftly followed by some milk that looked more like yoghurt and a piece of mouldy cheese. She was really going to have to learn how to run a house sometime soon. Her mother would be appalled.

She drew out the carton of orange juice and poured herself a glass of it – since the milk bit the dust that would be the next best thing – and made her way through to the lounge. She would just sit for a minute, and then she'd try to track Ray down. If he didn't answer his cell, she'd go to Brett's. She had to talk to him. She had to know.

Ray hadn't really known what to do after Brett had left him. He'd apologised, saying he had a lot of sorting out to do if he was going to be on a plane in the morning, and clapped him on the shoulder, wishing him luck, then was gone. Brett was undeniably a little crazy at times, but with him and Nick going, Ray felt like his last grip on reality was leaving too. Without them, the band, and now without work as well, to keep him distracted, he didn't know how he was going to stop himself from slipping into a mire of self pity.

What made it worst of all was that he'd actually believed her. As she clung to him, arching her back into him, and moving with him in perfect synchronisation, and cried his name, cried out her love for him, he had honestly thought that was it, that it was going to be forever. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. He felt so foolish.

And yet…

Brett's words echoed in his head. _I've seen the way she looks at you. _He'd almost had himself persuaded that he was just dreaming, seeing things that weren't there, until Brett had said that. If Brett had seen it too, then maybe, just maybe, it was real. Maybe it was worth sticking around for. No matter how much he told himself otherwise, he knew she didn't look at Michael like that. She looked at him lovingly, make no mistake, he saw that, and felt the hurt accordingly, but it wasn't the same as when she looked at him. In the brief moments where he had allowed himself to look into those soulful brown eyes of hers, the emotion he'd seen there took his breath away. It was those moments that gave his heart the drive it needed to carry on overruling his head.

He'd gone back to the apartment in the end. His shift wasn't exactly over, but hey, he'd quit, they weren't going to be able to do anything about it if he knocked off early for once. He used to do it all the time, so he told himself he shouldn't feel so damn guilty about it now. He flirted with the idea of going to a bar, but even though he wished he was, he wasn't in the mood. So he'd ended up here.

As he was climbing the stairs, he met Michael on his way down. He was relieved that he was going to have the place to himself, but was surprised to see what he was wearing. He was in full military get up. He was also carrying a small clothes bag, and looking guilty.

'Where the Hell are you going?' Ray wasn't in the mood for small talk or politeness. For Neela, he didn't like how this was looking, and he hated the instant rush of hope that he felt for himself.

'I…' Michael had been caught out, and he knew it. He tried to brazen it out. 'I've got a meeting, to… to see about whether I may be able to finish my residency here in Chicago. I know how much Neela wants to stay here.'

Ray narrowed his eyes, considering. His explanation was plausible enough, but there was something about it that didn't ring true. He was sure that Neela would have said something about this, she'd be too excited at the prospect of Michael getting the job he wanted, in the city she wanted, to not tell people. On the other hand, he hadn't exactly been around to hear. 'What's the bag for then?'

'Uh, if, in case,' he stuttered, then appeared to think of a reason. 'Neela and I are meant to be going out this evening with a friend of mine from med school. If this meeting runs on, then I might have to meet them there, so I brought a change of clothes.'

Again, plausible. Believable. Almost certainly the truth. Ray would have been taken in if it hadn't been for the guilt, but Michael gave himself away by it. 'Okay, well good luck man.' Ray started climbing up the stairs again and waited until he heard Gallant move away as well. Then he turned back. He wasn't much of a one for threats or dramatic gestures, but this was different. He meant it.

'I swear, if you ever do anything to hurt her…' he began.

Michael had stopped on the stairwell, and looked up at Ray, a hard, searching look that seemed to be trying to say something that Ray didn't understand. 'Then you'll be there to pick up the pieces.'

And with that, the other man was gone.

Ray was still trying to work out what Michael had meant when he heard a key turning in the lock. The meeting couldn't have lasted long; in fact, it couldn't be more than half an hour since they'd passed on the stairs, Ray had only just had time to have a shower, make a cup of coffee, and sit down in the lounge with a recent medical journal (jobs section, of course), so it couldn't be Gallant returning.

'Michael? Ray?' He heard Neela's voice echo through the apartment. What was she doing home so early? Her shift shouldn't be over for hours yet. He didn't answer her; she'd find him soon enough. He listened as she opened the fridge, making noises of disgust as she tossed what he presumed to be the leftovers from the Chinese in the trash. Glancing woefully at his coffee, the odd whiteish lump bobbing away just under the surface, he expected the milk went as well. Then, at last, she opened the door to the lounge.

'Hey,' he said, without looking up from the journal.

'Ray,' she exclaimed. 'I didn't know you were here. You didn't answer when I called out.'

'I can go if you want.' He saw her face change, as if she'd been slapped, when he spoke, and he realised that he must have sounded far colder than he had intended. She was looking stressed and worried, and he had meant to offer her some space. He hurried to correct his mistake. 'I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, if you want to be alone…'

'No,' she replied quickly. 'I don't want to be alone.' She came to sit next to him. 'I want to talk to you.'

Ray let his eyes slide away evasively. He didn't want to talk. Even looking at her hurt too much.

She wasn't going to let him get away with it though. She laid a hand on his arm, then when he tried to pull away, she raised her hand to his cheek, and very very gently turned his head towards her. 'Ray, please, I'm begging you.'

And with just a few soft words, she had managed to break down all the walls he had put up, and he found the courage to meet her eyes. They stayed locked together like that for a long moment, then he leaned into her hand, turning his head so his lips were almost touching the velvet soft skin on the inside of her wrist. That was the first place he had kissed her, and he ached to do so again.

She pulled her hand away just in time. 'Please don't Ray,' she said quietly.

'I'm…' He tried to apologise but the words wouldn't come, so he compromised. 'Okay, I won't do it again.'

He was looking away from her again, his head buried in his hands as he tried to control the urge to kiss her, whether she wanted him to or not. He wanted to press his lips to hers, to run his hands under her jumper and over her breasts, and he wanted, desperately, to make love to her again. If she so much as touched him again, he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop himself.

'Ray, I have to know, are you leaving… because of me?' she asked in a small voice.

'What makes you think that?' He wanted, selfishly, to hear her reaction to him leaving before he told her that he wasn't going anywhere. Well, it was kind of dependent of the whole job situation, but he'd decided to take Brett's words to heart. He wasn't going to run away from this, especially having just had that conversation with Michael. Something told him that he should stick around.

'Because I've… You've hardly spoken to me since the night I got home from Jamaica. I know how much I've hurt you, and before all this, you were happy here, you've got a good job, the band, so I can't think of any other reason you would want to leave.'

Ray suddenly realised he was at a fork in the road. He could cut and run, it might take a while, but he was sure he'd be able to find another residency spot, somewhere. He could even take one last throw of the dice and ask her to come with him; she might, just might, say yes. Or he could be her friend, just as he'd promised to. There was something strange about Michael's behaviour this afternoon, it was almost as if… as if Michael _wanted _him to care for Neela. It didn't make the slightest bit of sense, but he was sure that's what he had meant.

So he found his softest, most caring voice, and put aside his feelings once and for all. 'I'm not going anywhere Neela,' he said, meeting her eyes again. She was biting her lip, and there were tears glistening on her lashes. 'I'm staying right here.'

She frowned in confusion, but he caught the look of utter relief shining in her dark eyes. 'I don't understand, I thought you said you quit.'

'I did,' he explained. 'The band has been invited to California, L.A., to do a couple of gigs, maybe some recording. I asked Weaver for a few weeks off so I could go, and rashly I said that I'd be prepared to resign if she wouldn't let me go. Before I knew what was happening, she'd accepted my resignation, and that was it.'

Neela let out a little laugh of relief. It wasn't funny really, but she felt so much better knowing that it wasn't her who had driven him away, made him so miserable that he felt he had to go. 'So you're only going to be away for a few weeks then?'

'No, actually. I'm not going at all. I met with Brett, and he –' He couldn't tell her the truth of what Brett had really said. He thought quickly. 'He said he thought I should stay. That medicine was more important.'

'_Brett _said that?' she asked incredulously.

Damn it Barnett, at least make it half believable, he chastised himself. 'Well, I guess he's growing up. Anyway, I think he's right. Being a doctor means a lot to me, and although the whole music thing is something I've dreamed about since I was a kid, well…' The explanation died in his throat and he looked at her for a very long time, letting himself drown in the emotion in her fabulous eyes. 'Not all dreams are meant to come true,' he finished.

There was understanding in her expression as she gazed back at him. She found his acceptance of disappointed hopes desperately sad, but she had no right, after all that she had done, to stir things up again. If he had been fortunate enough to find some sort of peace over this; something she herself was still praying for, then she wasn't going to rip it to pieces. He was staying, she told herself firmly that should be enough for her.

So she stood up, and he noticed she was standing in an unusual pose, with the palm of her hand resting on her stomach. She gave him a sad little smile before she left the room. 'No, you're right, they're not.'


	19. Banter

Disclaimer: As before. The conversation between Weaver and Ray is pretty much verbatim from the show (except I threw a bit more Neela in there as well) – I know it doesn't have a lot of relevance to the story, but it had me in stitches, so I'm afraid it had to go in; after all, when the writers _do_ do it right, it seems a shame not to make the most of it.

Author's Note: During this chapter, I discovered the perfect writing technique – I sat down with a massive bar of chocolate and I allowed myself one square per five hundred words I wrote – got it finished in record time, I strongly recommend it as a writing aide! Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter – I'm updating again very quickly I've realised; perhaps I should demand more reviews before you get the next one? Hope you all have a good Bank Holiday weekend (well, if you're in the UK and actually get a free day off on Monday! Otherwise, have a really good weekend anyway!)

To Neela's utter relief, things with between herself and Ray began to pick up over the following days. It was a cliché but it felt like a load had been lifted from her shoulders, her head didn't feel so scrambled all the time. She hadn't expected the change to be instant; that would be too much to ask, but there was an immediate… warmth there. She was so happy that, just for now, she let herself forget the rest of the problem. She knew she was still going to have to do the unthinkable as far as the baby was concerned, but at the moment, that was eclipsed by the joy she felt that Ray wasn't leaving.

In the end, she made an excuse for meeting Michael and his friend; he'd called to say he was tied up at a meeting and he'd meet her there but she told him she'd had a rough day and wasn't in the mood, which he accepted readily enough. She didn't know exactly why she hadn't wanted to be with Michael tonight; when she'd initially decided to cry off it, it had been for the excuse of talking to Ray, but she'd done that now. She guessed she just wanted to build a few more bridges.

When she'd gone back out to Ray, she felt a smile creep across her face just to see that he was still there. Admittedly he didn't have Brett's place to hide anymore, but the fact that he'd stayed, he wasn't on the call room sofa or propping up some bar or goodness only knows where, gave her hope. They'd spent the evening in just the way they had spent so many before her marriage; they ordered in a massive pizza and he made her watch some terrible horror film. She'd cried off the beer, saying she had a headache, but he didn't appear to think anything of it, simply smiling and commenting that it meant all the more for him. Other than that, the evening was perfect.

They talked, for a long time, not more agonising about their situation, which only seemed to drive them further apart, but about things they might have talked about before, like laughing at the idea of Brett and Nick trying to survive the temptations of Los Angeles without getting arrested, and how long it was going to take Morris to actually physically explode in one of his arguments with Albright and what on earth Ray was going to do about his job. He didn't fancy his chances if he had to go back to Weaver and beg to come back. In the unlikely event of that particular plan being successful, Weaver wasn't the type to ever let him forget it.

After coming up with, and then discounting, several ideas, in the end it was Neela who suggested he simply pretended his resignation had never happened, to just turn up for work completely as normal. The fact that he was well practised at denial lately stood between them, but they didn't let the evening be ruined by mentioning it.

And then, for the first night in over a week, he actually slept in the apartment. It was more headway than Neela could ever have expected to make in one evening, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

The next morning, Ray wasn't so sure about Neela's plan, but she was firm. 'It'll be fine,' she told him. 'Trust me.' And because she said that, with a bright smile that he hadn't seen from her for a while, he found himself believing in it too.

He was at the admit desk with Dubenko when Weaver caught up with him.

'What are you doing here?'

He put on a deliberately confused face. 'Uh, working?'

She gave him a suspicious look, as if she wasn't sure whether or not he was taking the piss. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time we spoke, I distinctly remember you offering me your resignation. To spend more time with your band.' She couldn't have said the word _band _in a more derogatory tone if she'd tried. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neela walking towards him and he gave her a flicker of a grin.

He looked back at Weaver, his eyes wide, full of schoolboy innocence. He heard Neela giggle. 'Resign? My band? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about Doctor Weaver.' Her eyes narrowed and he braced himself for the explosion. Neela had rounded the side of the admit desk and her and Dubenko were looking on in amusement. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

'I'm not in a band, I swear to you.' He paused, enjoying the expression of utter bemusement she wore. 'You know, you were pretty doped up last time we were talking, perhaps you were tripping…' He let his sentence die away as a particularly fierce look entered Weaver's eyes.

'_I don't trip_.' Her tone was steely.

He caught Neela's eye again, and he could hear her warning as if she had said it out loud. _Too much Barnett, back off. _She was laughing though.

'Okay, well, anyway…' He turned back to the admit desk, as casually as he could, and he could feel Weaver's green gaze burning into him. 'Is she coming?' he asked without raising his eyes from the chart he was reading.

'No.' Dubenko sounded amused even though he realised he wasn't in on whatever joke it was.

'She is watching, right?' Ray still wasn't convinced he was going to get away with it. Surely it couldn't have been that easy? Imagine all the things he could have got away with over the years, if… No Ray, don't even think it.

'Oh yeah.'

'…And now?' He knew the answer, he could still feel her eyes on him.

'Yep.'

'What about now?'

'Yep.'

God, the woman was hard. He could just imagine the glare she was giving him right now, but he didn't have the guts to turn and look. He pretended to write something on the chart in front of him and carefully avoided Neela's gaze; if he didn't, he was going to burst out laughing, he was sure of it, he could feel it rising in his throat and his shoulders were beginning to shake.

'Now she's going,' Dubenko said.

Ray chanced a look around at saw Weaver's departing back. He breathed a sigh of relief, and he and Neela burst out laughing. 'I can't believe I just got away with that.'

Neela nudged him. 'See, I told you you would. Now, thank me for getting you your job back.'

'Thank you for getting me my job back,' he smiled at her.

Dubenko was looking at them curiously. 'I did quit yesterday,' Ray explained. 'Accidentally. Long story. Basically I didn't think she'd say yes if I just asked for my job back.'

'Hm, you're right, she probably wouldn't have done', Dubenko replied bluntly. 'Anyway, Neela, what did you do to impress Albright?'

Now it was Neela's turn to look confused. 'Why?'

'Because you've got surgery as an elective. Congratulations, we're looking forward to having you.' Dubenko gathered up some charts, and walked away, letting his news sink in.

A stunned look fell over Neela's face, which slowly began to change to delight. 'Surgery?' she asked the empty spot that Dubenko had left behind. 'Oh my God Ray, I've got Surgery.' Without thinking, she pulled him into a hug, and he gave her a purely platonic kiss of congratulation on her cheek.

'Well done,' he said, meaning it. 'Bad luck for having to work for Albright, but congratulations, I know how much you wanted it.'

'Oh, I did. I do.' She gave a little, un-Neela like squeal of excitement. When she realised she was still holding him, Ray had already dropped his arms, she hurriedly let go of him, and wound a curl of hair behind her ear for something to do. 'I, uhh, think I'm going to go and find Michael and tell him the news,' she said slightly awkwardly. She didn't want to hurt Ray by deliberately mentioning Michael, but she knew she'd crossed an unspoken line that they had drawn between themselves, and she was eager to get things back on the correct footing.

To her surprise, Ray didn't turn away from her in hurt as he may have done before. Instead, he started to walk with her. 'So, are you and Mikey going to get your own place now?' he asked conversationally.

'Michael,' she corrected him with a fabulously stern look that only she could give. He had missed it nearly as much as he had missed seeing her smile. 'Don't worry, we'll be out of your hair soon. We're looking at a place this afternoon.'

'Well, good luck,' he said. 'I hope it's nice.'

'Ray –' she began. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't quite stop herself.

'Don't Neela,' he cut across her. 'It's for the best. Friends is what we agreed.'

She nodded. 'It's more than I deserve.'

He grinned evilly at her. 'Too right. You owe me big time.'

She laughed in spite of herself. 'I owe you? My ingenious, devious plan just got you your job back. I think we're pretty even.' Although deep down, her heart – and her head – was still in pieces over everything that had happened, she couldn't deny that it felt fantastic to get back to the banter that they used to have. And as she had said, it was so much more than she deserved.

Just then, Inez came up to them. 'Ray, do you know a girl called Zoë Butler?'

Ray's heart sank. Much as he'd initially liked Zoë, that was a particular situation he had thought he had managed to extricate himself from, and he wasn't sorry to see the back of her. He didn't need her turning up again, not now. Things were bad enough as they were.

'No,' he replied, then felt Neela's sharp elbow digging mercilessly into his ribcage. Jumping sideways away from her, and gasping a little in pain, he quickly amended his statement. 'Maybe.'

Inez frowned at him with impatience. 'Well, _maybe _she's here looking for you. Exam Two.'

Ray turned to Neela. 'Oh God,' he groaned, 'what's she doing here? I told her to stay away from me.'

He sounded worried, and she looked up at him in sympathy. 'Well, perhaps she's here for something medical, and she knows you, so she asked for you,' she suggested, but neither of them really believed it.

'She's trouble Neela. I… I wouldn't have got out of it last time if it hadn't been for you. I've got enough on my plate at the moment, I don't need this right now.'

'I could go,' she offered. She didn't want to see Zoë any more than Ray did, probably less, but if she could protect Ray from her, she would do.

'No,' he sighed reluctantly. 'She's my problem, I got myself into it. And you never know, there might actually be something wrong with her. She's only a kid, and hospital is a scary place if you're not used to it,' he said fairly. 'I'll see to her.'

'Okay. But if you need anything, if it's anything at all a female doctor should be dealing with, page me straight away. Don't take any risks.'

'I will. Thank you. Now, off you go and find Michael, tell him your news.'

He watched her as she walked away without looking back. Neela was moving out, and now he had Zoë to deal with on top of everything else. Wow, and he thought today just might not be too bad. How stupid of him to let himself get his hopes up.


	20. Missed Opportunity

Disclaimer: As before. Much of the Ray and Zoë interaction is directly from the show, episode Split Decisions.

Author's Note: This will probably be my last update before I leave my parents to go back to my internetless flat, as I've run out of my stockpile of chapters now and I don't think I'm going to have the time to churn out another chapter. I will try though! I've ordered the internet for my new flat now, so hopefully, at some stage in the not too distance future I won't have to drive ninety miles back to my parents' house to update (yet to find an internet café in my new town). In the meantime though, enjoy, and please, please review.

Neela put Ray's latest crisis with Zoë to the back of her mind and went off in search of her husband. After a while, she found Michael in the lounge. He had a medical journal open on the table beside the sofa and was pouring himself a cup of murky liquid that masqueraded as coffee. She smiled softly at him; he looked a little worse for wear after his night out with his friend the previous evening. Whatever time it was he'd stumbled in, she'd been asleep. She didn't mind though, she was glad that he did go out with his friends from time to time, she didn't want to be one of those awful wives who practically satellite tracked their husbands' every move.

_Huh, wife_, she thought to herself, winding her wedding ring around her finger unconsciously, _like I have any right to call myself that. _

'Hey you,' she said. She was too happy with the world this morning; a reconciliation with Ray topped off with the news of her impending surgery elective, to worry about anything, even her dire situation. She came up behind him and ducked in front of him under his arm. He dipped his head down to give her a quick peck on the lips.

'Morning,' he replied. 'Sorry if I woke you when I came home last night.'

Michael offered the coffee he had poured to Neela, which she took with a smile while he poured himself another one. 'Thank you. No, you didn't. Ray and I ordered in pizza and we watched some terrible film of his, then I had an early night.' She spoke as casually as she could, trying not to give away just how happy last night had made her. And she missed off the other part of the sentence that she didn't really think Michael needed to hear.

_Oh, and I decided once and for all that I'm going to make this marriage work, no matter what it takes, even if that means killing the innocent life inside me and breaking my own heart._

'Sounds good.'

'It was.' She wondered how Michael wasn't quizzing her, asking her what she had been doing with Ray, but then she realised there was nothing suspicious in spending an evening with a friend. It was only her, her thoughts and her feelings, that made it wrong. God, couldn't she go even a few seconds without thinking about Ray? Why did everything have to come back to him?

They sat down on the sofa; Neela knew she should be working, but she was sure she would be allowed five minutes to share a coffee and her news with her husband. 'Your night was clearly pretty good as well, you were dead to the world when I left this morning.'

He laughed. 'Yeah, it was, it was good to see Dean again. He brought his fiancée with him, it was a shame you couldn't make it, the two of you would have got on well I think.'

A familiar pinprick of guilt needled her. Surely it was her duty as a wife to appear on her husband's arm at social occasions as and when required. But then, it was also probably her duty to make sure she didn't get pregnant with another man's baby, and as she had failed so spectacularly with that one, the odd night out with his friends was unlikely to make or break the marriage.

'I'm sorry, I'd have liked to have come. I just didn't feel up to it,' she said quietly. She salved her conscience by telling herself it wasn't _quite _a lie; she didn't feel up to going out, and, at least on some level, she would have liked to have gone, met Michael's friends, felt more a part of his life.

As always, he was laid back, he didn't seem upset about it. 'Don't worry about it.'

'Well, I'm looking forward to it next time anyway,' she said brightly.

As she said the words _next time _Michael turned his attention away from the journal he was idly flicking through and put his coffee down on the floor. As Neela looked at him, she realised he had an odd expression on his face, almost as if he was in pain. 'Neela,' he began awkwardly, 'there's something I have to tell you.'

There was something ominous in his tone, and icy fingers of fear crept around her heart and squeezed it tightly. What was he going to say to her? Did he know? Had he found out what had happened between her and Ray, and, disgusted, was leaving her just as she had made her decision that it was Michael she wanted to be with. Or perhaps he had guessed she was pregnant, and then she would have to tell him the baby wasn't his. No, it couldn't be that, he wouldn't look so anguished, so _sorry_, if it was that.

But whatever it was, his words made her remember why she had come to find him in the first place. 'Oh, so do I,' she cut across him excitedly. He looked frustrated at the interruption, so even though she didn't think she wanted to hear whatever it was he wanted to tell her, she said, 'sorry, you first.'

He considered her face for a moment. She looked bright, excited, better than she had for ages, since the early days of their honeymoon really. She said she'd recovered from that stomach virus, but he thought there was still something a touch amiss. It was so nice to see her smiling like that that he didn't have the heart to burst her bubble. Whatever her news was going to be, it was obviously good. Unlike his.

'No, of course not. Ladies first.'

'Okay, well, Dubenko has just told me that I've got Surgery as an elective. I applied for it, but I never thought I'd have a chance of getting it with that cow Albright in charge, but I have.'

Michael pulled her into a hug, and made the most of the opportunity to give her an enthusiastic kiss. It could be one of their last. 'Congratulations Neela, well done, you must be so pleased.'

'Oh, I am, I am. You know, I always told myself I didn't want to go into Surgery, but I think I've really changed my mind about it. I can't wait to get in there, see what it's really like,' she enthused. 'And wait until I tell my parents. My father has always wanted me to be a surgeon, ever since I said I wanted to be a doctor. He'll be delighted about this.'

Michael let her ramble on, her words washing over him. She was talking about the Chief Resident, Albright, who apparently was a nightmare, and how she was going to be able to work with her. She was chattering animatedly, her eyes shining, completely absorbed in what she was telling him.

He couldn't tell her now, he just couldn't bring himself to break her heart when she was so full of a girlish excitement that he hadn't really seen in her before. What he had to say to her was cruel enough as it was.

And then she was asking, 'anyway, what was it you wanted to tell me?'

There it was, the perfect opportunity. And she had handed it to him on a plate. He was going to _have _to tell her, and soon. He had to report to the barracks tomorrow morning, for transfer back to Iraq in two days time. He should tell her now. Right now.

'Oh, it doesn't matter. It can wait,' he lied. 'Now, tell me, when does this elective start?'

And so the moment passed like sand slipping through his fingers. He had less than twenty four hours left to tell her that just a month into their marriage, he was leaving her to go back to fight in a war he knew she didn't support. He'd be back, of course, but he was still abandoning her. And he didn't have a clue what to say.

Once Neela left, Ray brushed past Inez and stormed towards Exam Two. He threw open the door, bursting into the room, and without really taking in the hunched figure lying on the gurney with her back to him, he started shouting angrily, the tension of these last weeks pouring out even though it was far from Zoë's fault.

'What the Hell are you playing at? I told you not to come here again Zoë. I can't see you as a doctor, or as anything else.'

He couldn't believe she'd just turned up here like this. Hadn't he made it clear enough last time? God, if it all came out… The stupidity of his actions with Zoë hit him afresh. He'd thought he had got away with it, but it obviously wasn't going to just go away. In the worst possible scenario, which was of course the very first one his brain jumped to, he could be facing jail time over this, he'd almost certainly be struck off as a doctor. He'd lose everything he had been working his ass off for.

And it wasn't just him. If people found out Neela had helped him cover it up? It would cost her her job, at least, and she'd find it virtually impossible to get a place on another residency program with that hanging over her head. No doubt the squeaky clean Michael Gallant would be none too impressed either. Then Ray remembered crossing him on the stairs yesterday, the air of guilt, the quickly made up excuses, and thought Gallant might not be quite as squeaky clean as he appeared to be. He was up to something at any rate.

What could it be? He remembered again the strange look Michael had given him at the end of their brief conversation yesterday, and the words that he had said. _You'll be there to pick up the pieces. _What pieces? What was going to happen that might break her into pieces?

And why had Michael asked him to look after her? By rights, you would have expected him to ask Pratt, they were best friends and he and Michael barely knew each other. They had met through Neela, they almost always spent time together with Neela; she was the _sole _thing they had in common.

Michael _must _know how he felt about her. The man would have to be blind not to. Ray had tried to be discreet for Neela's sake, but he knew he wore his heart on his sleeve, he always had done, it was the way he was. So why the Hell would Michael ask _him _to look after Neela? Was he deliberately trying to torture him? Had he worked out what had happened, and was planning some sort of elaborate, torturous revenge?

No, he dismissed that thought as soon as it occurred. Michael was straightforward, uncomplicated. If he had found out about that night, he would have got angry, punched Ray, and either forgiven Neela, or left. Simple as that. He was far too honourable to need petty revenge.

So what had he meant, what did he want Ray to do? Look after Neela, yes, but why? Why was she going to need looking after? Try as he might, he just couldn't make sense of it.

Ray realised his thoughts had travelled, in only a few seconds of silence, far from the exam room he was standing in, far from the situation he should be worrying about right now.

'Zoë?' he asked softly.

Slowly, she rolled over on the gurney, and looked at him out of those wide, soulful eyes of hers. Except they weren't as wide as they should have been. One was purple lidded, forced half closed by a cut above it, swelling below it. Her lip was split, and she was cradling her arm against her body to protect it from further pain.

His anger melted in an instant, and shock flooded in to replace it. He was worried about his love life, and there were kids out there, because that's all Zoë really was, for all her make-up and worldliness, being beaten up. God, he was pathetic.


	21. A goodbye

Disclaimer: As before. Again, the Ray and Zoë interaction is specifically from the show.

Author's Note: I was working like crazy to try to get this chapter finished before I left the world of the internet far behind me, but then I withheld it due to lack of reviews (three, really?!). Then today I felt sorry for you all, so I trekked off to find an internet connection, and here you go. So in return, I'd love it if you could leave me lots of reviews. This chapter hasn't quite ended up how I thought it would, I sort of wish I'd just left out the whole Zoë thing, I don't think it adds to the story, but I've started it now, so I've got to finish it off. I hope you weren't too bored by it – it was part of the show so that's why it's there. But don't worry, by the end of the chapter, I get back to the point again.

Reining in his temper, Ray soon found that talking more gently to Zoë was enough to coax most of the story for her. Her father, who Ray, needless to say, remembered as being a fairly violent, unlikeable character, was responsible for her present state. Through her tears, and winces of pain as Ray carefully set a cast on her broken arm, she told him that her and her father had had an argument, and she'd stormed off to a friend's house. The next day, she'd found him waiting, predictably furious, for her after school. Then he'd dragged her home, and done his best to make her sorry for her defiance.

Ray felt a pang of guilt as she spoke. Had he walked away too quickly last time? He should have known that no untroubled fourteen year old would get dressed up and go out to pick up guys twice her age. She had obviously been looking for some sort of escape. And now he knew what from. He wondered if he had handled things better, let logic rather than damn lust govern his thoughts, that he might have been able to prevent this. Although that wasn't the only situation recently where such a philosophy could have prevented such pain.

Then he got real and remembered that he wasn't that superhuman or influential. But he could help her now.

'Isn't there someone you can call? So you don't have to go back home,' he asked.

Zoë shook her head. 'There's my sister, but she lives in San Francisco. She… escaped. Dad used to beat her too.'

Ray had finished applying the cast, and sat back in the chair. 'Well, in that case, I'm calling the cops. You can't go back there if he hits you.' His tone was decisive.

'No,' Zoë said quickly. 'You can't do that. You don't understand, that would just make him worse. They'd only take a statement or something, they wouldn't do anything. Then I'd have to carry on living with him, and he'd just hit me more.' She spoke with a plaintive desperation, and Ray believed her. A lot of these abusive types were like that; all charm when the authorities were sniffing around, then twice as bad behind closed doors because of it.

Then she looked up at him appealingly. 'Can I move in with you? I have nowhere else to go.'

Ray sighed. He'd been wondering when she would start on that. He gave her a stern look. 'Don't even try that with me Zoë. Believe me when I say I'm not in the mood. I shouldn't even be seeing you, let alone treating you. I definitely am not going to be _living _with you.'

_God, wouldn't that just be cosy? _he thought. Michael and Neela, him and Zoë. It was the stuff of nightmares.

'But Ray…'

'No buts. No more of that talk at all. Now, I'll go and see if I can find you some food, okay?' He glared at her until she acquiesced with a reluctant nod. 'Good, I won't be long.'

He was returning a short while later with a tray laden with as much junk food as he could persuade the cafeteria to give him, when Inez called out to him. 'Ray, I called the cops on that Zoë Butler kid. Social Work as well.'

He stopped abruptly in his tracks, losing a bowl of some sort of pudding. 'You what?'

'Well, she's an obvious abuse case. They needed to be informed.'

Ray groaned and rolled his eyes, which Inez picked up on instantly. 'Why _shouldn't _they have been called?' she asked, hands on hips.

'It's kind of complicated –' he began.

'In what way?' she cut across him.

No, there was no point even beginning to explain. Better to let her think she had done the right thing, then go for a bit of damage control behind the scenes. 'Oh, it doesn't matter. Yeah, it is an abuse case. Physical, non-sexual. You were right to call them.'

Inez looked surprised at Ray's lightning turn around. 'I was?'

'Yes, of course. Like you said, an obvious abuse case.'

'Yes. Right. Anyway, the cops should be here to interview her in about half an hour, then I expect Social Work will place her somewhere for the night.'

Ray hurried back to the room where Zoë was waiting. 'Zoë, we've got to get hold of your sister. Social Work are on their way –' She looked outraged. 'It wasn't me who called them, okay? But we're going to have to get you out of here quickly.' He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and offered it to her. 'Call your sister.'

Half an hour later, he had bundled Zoë into a thick warm coat he had found in the lost property box that Jerry usually guarded diligently, and led her out in the snow to the ambulance bay. There was a cab waiting.

'Now, your ticket will be waiting for you at the airport. It's an Alaskan Airways flight, leaving at seven thirty.'

'But I can't just leave,' she said, biting her lip in worry, and looking every inch the scared girl she was. 'What about school, all my things?'

'Give me your keys,' he ordered. 'I'll sort your stuff and get it sent on to you. And you'll have to contact your school, arrange a transfer.' Dipping his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a small bundle of cash and put it into her hand, ignoring her as she shook her head.

'For the cab,' he explained. 'And something to get you started.'

'Ray, I can't take your money.'

He began to manoeuvre her gently in the direction of the cab. He wanted to get this over and done with as soon as he could, so he could be right there and therefore innocent of any suspicion when the police came to find her gone. 'You can,' he said in a tone that brooked no argument. 'Besides, not all of it's mine. I got some of the richer docs to pitch in.' He'd gotten Pratt and Morris to empty their wallets, promising to pay them back as soon as he had the cash on him. It was only a couple of hundred bucks, but it was the least he could do for the kid.

Oddly, having Zoë around for the day had made him forget everything else that was going on. He wasn't sure if it was because she was the first challenging (although possibly for the wrong reasons) case he had worked on in ages, or because of who she was, but he hadn't found himself thinking about Neela anything like as much as he normally did. And that had to be a good thing; well worth a couple hundred bucks at any rate.

He saw tears pooling in her eyes, and against his better judgement, he found himself giving her a reassuring hug. 'It's going to be okay Zoë, I promise. Your sister will be right there at the airport waiting for you when you land.'

'Come with me,' she sniffled.

He felt encouraged that he didn't want to run away so much that her offer sounded like a good one. A few days ago, it might have done, but not now. After last night with Neela, as normal, relaxed an evening as they had ever had, he felt a hope that hadn't been there before that at least some sort of friendship was going to be salvageable.

'You know I can't do that,' he told her as gently as he could.

'I'll be eighteen in three years.'

'Yeah,' he chuckled softly. 'And you'll have forgotten all about me.'

'No, I won't,' she replied seriously.

She looked like she was about to say more, but she was prevented from doing so by just about the only interruption that Ray didn't want right then. From across the ambulance bay, they heard an angry shout of 'Zoë!' from her father.

'Quickly,' Ray said. Tugging her around, careful of her broken arm, he opened the door of the taxi and bundled her inside it. Her father was there too now, and he was hammering on the window. Ray grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him away from it. Without looking around to see the cab drive off, he threw Mr Butler to the ground.

'She's gone,' he said harshly. He had an overwhelming desire to simply spit on the man lying on the snowy sidewalk. Whatever man could do what he had to his own daughter didn't deserve any more respect than that.

Mr Butler began to struggle to his feet, spouting threats, but instead of taking what was coming to him like last time, Ray suddenly felt weeks of anger and frustration bubble to the surface and he couldn't control himself any longer. It might not be Mr Butler's fault, but at least he was no innocent victim. Ray gave him a vicious kick in the stomach and forced him back down with a foot on his chest.

'Don't you ever bother either me or Zoë again, or I will call the cops on you so damn fast you won't know what's hit you,' he hissed, his voice full of menace. And just as with all bullies, Mr Butler looked terrified at the prospect of a taste of his own medicine.

Ray was sorely tempted to make the punishment last a little longer, but he felt the rage die within him as soon as it had flared. With one last heavy shove with his foot, he walked away.

As he got back inside, he looked at his watch. His shift ended an hour ago; it was definitely time to go home. Not that home was any sort of a sanctuary, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Neela would be excited because of her surgery elective, and he felt he probably should be around. He still didn't know exactly what promise he had silently made to Michael yesterday morning, but whatever it was, he didn't intend on breaking it, and that probably meant being wherever Neela was. And it had to be better than this awful place anyway.

When he stepped in the front door of the apartment though, he wasn't so sure. When he was a kid growing up in Baton Rouge, there had sometimes been hurricanes that had blown in from the Caribbean and hit the city. The storm itself was terrifying, but what had always left him awestruck was the sense of utter devastation they had left in their path. You could walk down a street you had known your whole life and not recognise where you were. Their destructive power knew no bounds. And that was the exact same feeling as he had coming home that evening.

The first giveaway was Neela's coat lying on the floor, not neatly hung on one of the hooks by the door. She _never _didn't hang her coat up. Then her bag was also on the floor, resting abandoned at the foot of the wall, half open and some of the contents spilling out, almost as if it had been hurled at the wall, or perhaps someone standing near it, then left to slide to the floor.

Almost scared to go further, Ray picked his way over the first signs of wreckage to investigate. Sure enough, in the kitchen, broken pieces of what looked like it had once been a plate, in fact, he suspected it was the plate he ate his breakfast off this morning, and had left unwashed on the sideboard, crunched under his feet. A glass lay on its side where the plate had been, in a pool of water that presumably it had contained.

The lounge next. It was in darkness, but he flicked the light on. Just as he noticed the figure of Michael sitting on the couch, his back to him, with his shoulders hunched and head in his hands; a thoroughly dejected pose, Ray realised he could hear a sound he also associated with post hurricane devastation. Crying: noisy, undignified sobs that were coming from the direction of Neela's room.

_What the Hell had happened?_

'Michael?'

The figure on the sofa didn't move, and for a minute Ray didn't think he was going to answer. He wasn't even sure if he had heard him. Then, 'Ask her.'

Without pressing the other man further – he would rather hear it from Neela anyway – he hurried to her room. Without pausing to knock, which he had never neglected to do before, he pushed the door open and rushed in.

'Neela, Neela what is it?'

He knelt on the bed beside her, where she was lying, hunched into as small a ball as she could make herself. He saw, although didn't register, her hand on her stomach, as if she was protecting it. When she didn't say anything, he tenderly lifted a lock of hair away from her face and stroked her soft skin soothingly. He wiped away some of the tears with his thumb, but they were falling too thick and fast for him to make much of an impression.

After a while, he asked again. 'Neela?'

'Oh Ray,' she sobbed, her breath hitching in her throat, 'he's going.' Ray waited for her to explain, although as he did so, his mind flashed back to Michael standing on the stairs, in full military get up, looking guilty, the unspoken promise to look after Neela, and in that split second before she continued, he knew exactly what she was going to say.

'Michael is going back to Iraq. Tomorrow.'


	22. A secret revealed

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: I'm back! The internet is, at last, up and running in the new flat, so here you go. I'm really sorry I haven't been able to do justice to Michael and Neela's conversation in this chapter, but I haven't managed to see the clip where he tells her he's leaving, so I've had to make it up. I remember in the show Abby had cravings for something or other, but I can't recall what, so here it's fizzy cola bottles, my friend got through bags and bags of the things when she was pregnant. And as for this chapter, well, it's one for the angst lovers amongst you. Enjoy…! And reviews make me happy. You want to make me happy now, don't you?

Neela still had fifteen minutes of her shift left but she was eager to get going. And if she got caught up in something now, she'd be late to go and see this apartment with Michael. She was looking for someone to pass her charts on to when she saw Abby standing at the admit desk. Luka was bending down, whispering something to her, and she was smiling from ear to ear while eating what looked like fizzy cola bottles.

Neela went over to them. 'Abby, I couldn't leave these with you could I? Head lac on a drunk, woman in end stages of breast cancer collapsed out grocery shopping, and skateboard versus lamppost boy with suspected fracture of radius and ulna waiting on x-rays to come back.' She detailed her cases as she handed the charts over one by one. Abby took them, still chewing away at the sweets.

'Sure. Where are you off to in such a hurry?'

'Michael and I are going to see an apartment this afternoon. We have to be there at four o'clock.'

She looked at the fizzy cola bottles that Abby was scoffing as if they were going out of fashion. 'Can I have one?' Abby held out the bag. 'Mm, they're good,' Neela mumbled through a mouthful. She smiled internally; the baby was all of five weeks old inside her and already it was a sugar and E-number junkie. Definitely took after its father. She stopped herself before she went any further. She wasn't allowed to think of that tiny mass of cells as a baby, a real human creature, else she'd never be able to do what she had to do.

'So, you and Michael are getting a place together then?'

There was a slight tone of surprise in Abby's voice which Neela wasn't sure she entirely liked. 'Well, yes, we are married. That's usually what married people do, live together.' Abby's face didn't change, but an upward twitch of Luka's eyebrow told her she'd been too confrontational, too defensive.

'Ease up Neela, I was only asking. It's just that you've been married over a month now and you're still living with Ray. I would have thought if you were going to leave, you would have done it straight away.'

Luka seemed to sense the tension that was building in the conversation, and wordlessly slipped away. If there was something said that he shouldn't be hearing, well, he didn't want to hear it.

'What's that meant to mean?' Neela hissed.

'Nothing, God Neela, nothing at all. It was a passing comment. Just pretend I never said it, okay?'

After a moment's thinking about it, Neela gave in. 'Okay.' She changed the subject swiftly, to divert Abby from her line of questioning. 'Anyway, what's put you in such a good mood? You've been poker faced for a fortnight and Luka's been no better; now you're both grinning like a pair of clowns.'

'Well –' Abby began, but just then, Michael appeared from round the corner and came up to the admit desk. Normally, he would have put his arms around Neela, kissed her or some sign of affection like that – he was always intimate, touchy with her – but today he didn't, which was unusual. One brief glance at Abby told Neela that she had noticed.

'Hey. I've managed to escape a few minutes early. Are you ready to go?'

Michael looked awkwardly at Abby and Neela was reminded of the moment earlier when she was sure he had something that he wanted to say to her. Unless she was very mistaken, Michael didn't seem at all keen to go and see this apartment.

'Uh, yeah, sure I am.' He offered her his arm. 'Let's get going.'

'Well, it's quite nice,' Neela lied. The apartment wasn't quite nice at all, it was a bit of a dive, she was sure she had seen a cockroach in the cupboard under the sink and her heart rebelled at calling this small collection of rooms _home _when in truth there was a different apartment in this city that deserved the title. But it was in an excellent location; a two minute walk from an El station, and only three stops to the hospital. With a lick of paint, and once it was full of their things, they should be able to make it fairly homely. And, crucially, they could afford it.

'Mm.' The sound he made was vaguely agreeing, but he sounded absent and she couldn't tell if he shared her doubts about the place, or had something on his mind. She wasn't sure if he had heard her at all.

She tried again. 'We'll have to clean it up, obviously, but that's okay. And I think if we just paint it cream or white or something, it will be a lot lighter in here. New carpets too if we can afford them.' She scuffed at the rather mangy, indeterminate brown carpet that was currently in residence. 'This one is a bit awful, don't you think?'

This time, Michael didn't reply at all and Neela's patience snapped. She had been trying so damn hard and it just felt like she was getting nothing in return. She might have only been married just over a month, so she couldn't exactly claim to be experienced, but she was sure as Hell that _this _wasn't what a marriage was meant to be like.

'For God's sake Michael, at least _try _and show some enthusiasm. I know it's a dump, okay, I know it would be fantastic if we could get some gorgeous traditional apartment in a concierge served block, with lifts that work and no bloody cockroaches, but we're not going to. It's just not possible. So I'm doing my absolute best to make the most of this, and I would _really _appreciate a bit of support from you.'

_If it wasn't for you, I'd still be living with Ray, and even though the lifts don't work, and we have an occasional houseguest of the rodent or roach variety, I'd be happy. _

Neela's angry tirade finally brought Michael out of his reverie. 'Look, I'm sorry Neela, I didn't mean to be negative –'

'Well, you bloody were. I'm doing this for _us._' _And that's not the only thing I'm going to be doing for us._

'I know, I know, and believe me, I appreciate it, but –'

'_But what? _What the Hell is the matter with you at the moment?' As she shouted, Neela remembered the feeling she had had this morning that whatever it was he was hiding, she didn't want to know, and she wished for a second that she could retreat back into that ignorance again, but she knew it was too late, the pained look in his eyes told her it was all going to come tumbling out before the end. She just hoped her secret wouldn't as well.

She took a deep breath, and checked her temper, then said in a calm, but icy cold, tone; 'What is it you were going to tell me this morning?'

'Neela, I…'

'I'm not stupid. I know there's something going on. So please, whatever it is, just tell me.'

He sank down onto the sofa (not an action Neela would have dared herself, given its state) and put his head in his hands. She thought she heard him groan quietly. 'I didn't want to tell you like this,' he muttered.

'_Tell me what?_' Her voice was dangerous now.

'I'm… I'm going back to Iraq.'

Neela was utterly stopped in her stride. Any words that she had been going to say died in her throat and she stared at him in horrified shock. He couldn't mean that. He couldn't. This was all some twisted joke. He had found out about her and Ray and this was some sick form of revenge. 'Wh-what?' she eventually choked out into the crushing silence.

'I said I'm going back to Iraq.' His voice, as he repeated it, was even quieter the second time if that was possible.

'I don't understand you,' she said thickly. 'Back to Iraq? I don't… I thought you said you weren't likely to get posted back there until you'd finished your residency.' He'd told her that in Jamaica. 'You said you should be able to finish it here in Chicago.'

'Yes,' he replied flatly. There was no intonation at all in his voice.

'Then…why?' Hers, on the other hand, was full of confusion and anguish.

For a long time, he couldn't answer, unable to find the right words. Then he realised there were no right words, and the longer he stumbled and stuttered, the worse it was going to be. 'Because… Because I…' His voice was barely a whisper now. 'I asked to go back.'

The numbness, a cold, pervading numbness, started in her chest and with every beat of her heart was driven further and further through her body until she felt like she was drowning in it. Waves of confusion and panic began to rise up over her head and pull her under the surface. Then she realised it wasn't coldness or confusion or panic that was engulfing her after all, it was anger. White hot anger, and it was directed right at Michael.

'_How could you?_'

'Neela…'

'Don't you dare _Neela _me,' she screamed. 'What do you mean, you _asked _to go back? We've barely been married a month, and you're abandoning me.' She couldn't help tears springing her to eyes in spite of herself. She was too angry to have any sort of control over her emotions at all. 'Why? I don't understand. _Why?_'

'It's my duty. My comrades, my _friends _are still out there, risking their lives. What right do I have to stay safely at home?'

'Duty? What about your duty to your marriage, to me? What about my right to have a husband to come home to at night?' she pleaded.

'I know I have a duty to you as well Neela, and I love you, and I'm so happy to be married to you. But just because I have a wife now, that doesn't give me an excuse to sit at home. How many other guys out there do you think are married?'

'I don't care about them. I care about us. You've been out there, you've done your bit. You don't have to feel guilty about wanting to stay and finish your residency.'

'You're not listening to what I'm saying. I know I don't have to feel guilty, but I do. I _want _to go back. It's my _duty_,' he repeated, frustrated.

'Duty?' she spat at him. 'It's your duty to invade a country and help fight an _illegal _war?'

'Neela, I know you don't support what's going on in Iraq –'

His reasonable tone was driving her crazy. He seemed so fucking calm about it all. How could be like that when he'd just blown their marriage apart? 'Too bloody right I don't. Personally, I don't see how anyone could. But that's not the point. The point is, that you want to go, you want to leave me.'

'I'm not leaving you. It's not forever, it won't be for more than six months…'

'Six bloody months? That's half a year, Michael, half a year.' She shook her head, still in shock.

She turned away from him, pacing up and down the carpet. It didn't look so mangy now; she could barely see it at all. She could hear him trying to talk to her, he was offering more platitudes of some sort, but she wasn't listening. She needed to get out of this awful apartment – was it wrong that among all the hurt, there was a tiny flare of relief that she wasn't going to have to live here? She needed to get home. She needed Ray.

She started towards the door.

'Where are you going?'

'Home. You can do what you like.' Her tone was calmer, but just as hostile.

'Home?' he frowned. For a moment, from the angry distortion of her face, he thought she meant London, and his heart stopped in his chest. He had known she would be upset, but he didn't think that he was going to lose her over this.

'Yes,' she snapped. 'Home. Back to mine and Ray's.' There was just enough emphasis on the _mine _and _Ray's _that Michael felt the sting of her anger in those words and that tone with a greater force than in all her earlier shouting.

All along, he hadn't batted an eyelid about the fact that Ray was very obviously crazy about Neela. He didn't see it as important, knowing Barnett, he'd have moved on to the next girl within the week anyway, and in the meantime, Michael was glad that there was someone who he could really trust to be there for Neela; he'd seen how close they were.

But right now, seeing the revulsion in Neela's eyes, and the way her hand was on the grimy door handle, ready to take flight, he wasn't so sure. He'd thought, when she agreed to marry him, that meant that she was choosing him, but now it hit him just how little he knew her. He had no idea how she felt about Ray. He'd always just assumed…

'Wait,' he said, springing to his feet. 'I'm coming with you… if I can?' he added hopefully.

'I said do what you like.'


	23. Comfort

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: This chapter comes from the stockpile that I was working at while I was still internet and jobless, but I've just started a full time job (leaving those student days behind me once and for all…) so no guarantees on how often I will be able to update. No doubt many forthcoming writing sessions will now be dedicated to producing very interesting reports into agricultural tenancies and other fascinating things rather than fanfic. But alas, I promise to update when I can. And as you know, a few extra reviews always help things along the way.

She determinedly didn't look at him all the way home. On the El, she folded her arms, and stared out of the window. She still couldn't believe what he was going to do. He was going to go off and might get himself bloody killed, and for what? Because it was his _duty_? Fuck duty, she wanted to shout at him. She had to bite her lip to stop herself; she didn't want to cause a scene.

When they got back to the apartment, Neela made straight for her room, throwing her coat and bag on the floor as soon as she got inside and slammed her bedroom door with a resounding bang. She threw herself down on the bed and again the tears threatened. This time however, she refused to allow them to get the better of her.

Getting up, she stormed through to the kitchen, where she heard Michael fumbling around.

'Neela?'

'Actually, I'm not done with you yet,' she said menacingly, and he winced.

He held up his arms in a defeated gesture, and replied, 'go on. Say whatever you want. Scream and shout at me, it's okay. Call me every name under the sun if it makes you feel better. I don't mind.'

'This isn't about making myself feel better. Right now, I can't think of a lot that _would _make me feel better.' The spectre of Ray loomed between them, and this time Michael saw it too. He wondered fleetingly, before the next onslaught, how many other times it had been there and he hadn't seen it. He had a feeling it would be more than he realised. They both knew without words that Ray would be able to make her feel better.

'Well, whatever would, I'd be more than happy to do it for you,' he offered.

'Don't go then,' she said stoutly, hands on hips. Her voice had dropped a little, but her aggressive stance told him that she was ready to start shouting again in an instant.

'Neela, I'm going. I'm sorry, but I am. I have to.'

Words couldn't describe how much it hurt her that he had made such a monumental decision without so much as consulting her, without even telling her that the idea was in his head. She couldn't believe he wouldn't have told her. Perhaps if they had discussed it properly, like a married couple was supposed to, then maybe they could have worked something out. Maybe if he had warned her, not just dropped the bombshell on her, she might have even found it within herself to support him, but not like this.

'Well, that shows you much you care about this marriage then.'

'Don't say that Neela, please don't say that,' he begged. 'I love you _so much. _This marriage means everything to me.'

'Not enough to stay,' she stated baldly.

'Neela –' He tried to remonstrate with her, but his words of love only served to infuriate her more. There was a leftover breakfast plate on the side and he watched her as her hand found it and her fingers curled around the rim. He didn't think she was really going to throw it, but just in case he took a step towards her, reaching for the plate.

Too late, and he ducked just in time, the plate sailing through the air precisely where his head had just been. It smashed into a myriad of pieces on the wall behind him, and he turned to look at it, shocked.

'Neela, calm down.'

'Calm down? You're telling me to calm down? Oh, get real Michael. Why the Hell should I be calm? I've just found out my new husband hates my company so much that he'd rather go off to a warzone than live with me.'

'Look, can we just sit down and talk about this please.' He stepped over to the sink, and ran a glass of water. He offered it to her, but with a stinging slap, she batted it out of his hand, and it spilled over the sideboard where the plate had been.

'It's a bit late for talking Michael. Do you have any idea what I've given up for this marriage?'

The question was out before Neela could stop it. She had been so caught up in her angry tirade that she hadn't been thinking straight, and she could feel her face change into slack jawed shock that she had been so stupid. One glance at Michael and she knew his shrewd eyes had heard her, understood.

'No, I don't know, but I'd just love it if you would tell me Neela.' He was sarcastic now, he knew, or at least suspected.

Just for a second, she was tempted to tell him the truth. To tell him about Ray, the baby, to let him go off to Iraq, and leave the rest of it to chance. But then, her damn fear of rejection kicked in, and the abject terror she felt at the possibility of taking the risk with Ray overcame her. Before she knew what she was doing, full damage control mode kicked in. And in arguments like this, the best defence was to get straight back onto the offensive.

'A Hell of a lot more than you're prepared to, obviously,' she snapped, drawing herself up to her full five feet three inches with as much dignity as she could. 'So, when is it that you're going? You seem to have failed to have mentioned that little detail.'

Immediately, he forgot Neela's comment and she knew that for him to have been so easily deflected, there must be more bad news. 'Well?' she prompted.

'I… In… In the morning.'

A whole new round of hurt overcame her, and burning tears chased each other down her cheeks. There were no words left to say. The morning. It was so final, so… uncompromising. He might claim otherwise, he might even think he meant it, but she couldn't see how he could honestly be committed to this marriage if he had made this decision without her. She knew she was by no means blameless, a very very long way from it, but her decision was different. Her decision meant her giving up some ideal that she wanted more than anything to be true, but knew it couldn't be, and making her life in the real world instead. He on the other hand, was doing the opposite.

Not even bothering to wipe the tears away, she turned from him and retreated to the relatively safety of her room. This time she did not come out. She lay down on her bed and she tucked her knees up under her chin as far as she could, trying to make herself small enough to just disappear. She wished it would all just go away. She put her hand over her stomach again, and for the very first time, the baby was the one thing that she didn't want to go away.

She didn't see or hear Ray come into the apartment, or even her room. She simply felt a presence there with her, the weight of a second person on the bed, and the gentle touch of a hand that wasn't Michael's. Knowing it was Ray, she turned to him, let him draw her into his arms, taking the comfort he was offering. She wasn't aware of telling him what had happened, just of his arms around her, him brushing away her freely flowing tears, and his strong chest against her cheek. She felt safe, and a little of the anguish eased.

After she confirmed, through her sobs, his suspicions, Ray didn't say any more; there was nothing he could say, he knew, but continued to stroke her hair and rock her in his arms gently. Gradually, over a very long time, he felt her sobs that were racking her body slow and then cease.

She eased herself away from his body, and he felt the patch on his t-shirt that was wet with her tears go instantly cold the moment she moved away from him. He wondered how, even with puffy eyes and running make-up, she could still look so beautiful.

'I'm sorry Ray, I don't mean to put all of this onto you,' she sniffed.

'Hey, it's okay. I'm here for you Neela, whenever you need me. It doesn't matter what… what happened,' he added quietly. 'We're friends, as simple as that.' He paused, and gave her a winning smile. 'And since Brett and Nick buggered off, I can't afford to lose any more of you so called mates, so abandoning me is not on the cards Rasgotra. Understood?' His poor attempt at humour paid off; she squeezed out a watery grin.

'Understood.'

'Now,' he reached over to the little chest of drawers next to her bed and plucked a couple of tissues out of the box that stood there and handed them to her. She took them gratefully, and mopped at her still wet eyes, blew her nose ungracefully. 'That's better,' he said approvingly. 'In the spirit of trusted friendship now between us,' his eyes twinkled, 'how about trying a bit of talking?'

'Oh Ray,' she said, touched that he was trying so hard. 'You don't have to do this for me. I'm sure you don't want to hear…'

'No,' he agreed. 'But I'm sure you _need _to talk.'

She wanted to, but she couldn't argue. She desperately needed to talk, and who else was there? She let Ray take her small hands in his much larger, rougher ones, and pretended that the gentle stroking of her wrist by his thumb was simply encouraging, soothing. Not… more. 'I do, but I could call… uhh, Abby?'

'Abby's at work. I'm not. I promise I won't get angry and go and hit him. I've had enough of violence for one day.'

She suddenly remembered Zoë had been in earlier, and the state Ray had ended up in last time. 'What happened? Was it something to do with Zoë? Are you okay?'

He nodded. 'I'm fine, and so is she. Now. She's gone to live with her older sister in San Francisco, and her father isn't going to be bullying either of his daughters, me, or anyone else in a while.' Neela knew better than to ask for details. 'Anyway, forget about Zoë, she's the last person I want to talk about. He's going, when did he tell you?'

'When we were looking over the apartment this afternoon. He was being, well, I don't expect you noticed, but he's been odd these last few days, quiet, worrying about something. He was like it again so I lost my temper and started shouting at him, demanding to know what was wrong.' She gave a bitter little laugh that he didn't like to hear. 'Kinda wish I'd never asked now.'

'You had to know. He couldn't have just gone without telling you.'

'Couldn't he Ray? If you'd have asked me this morning, I would have agreed, but I don't know anymore. I feel like I don't know anything about him. The Michael I thought I married would never have made a decision like that without at least talking to me, but he's disproved that one. What else might I have been wrong about?'

Ray bit back the obvious comment. Of course she didn't know him. A one night stand and a few letters didn't give a firm enough foundation for a marriage. God knows he'd never marry a girl on such a flimsy basis. Saying all that would hardly help right now though.

If he hadn't already put his feelings for her in a separate, tightly locked, box, and if he hadn't promised Michael to look after her (he wasn't in the habit of breaking promises, even unspoken ones), he'd never been able to say what he did next. But it was the right thing, and although that didn't make it any less hard, it did give him some sort of comfort. He'd do anything for her, and if that meant giving her up, then so be it.

'Neela, I'm not saying what Michael's done doesn't matter, because it does, but what _really _matters is, do you love him?' She looked at him in surprise. 'Because if you do, tell him.' He met her eyes earnestly. 'He's going to Iraq tomorrow Neela. You know what that means. There is every chance in the world that after however many months it is going to be, he'll come back home, as large as life, and you'll get to make your marriage everything you hoped it would be. But if he doesn't,' she shut her eyes and turned away at the thought, but he persisted. '_If he doesn't_, you are never ever going to be able to forgive yourself if you let him go like this.'

He'd got her. In one softly spoken, inarguably true speech, he'd completely nailed her biggest fear. That if Michael was to go to Iraq, something might happen to him. That if he went, she would lose him. But her heart rebelled. Why would she want to go and see her husband when she could stay here, safe in Ray's arms, where nothing could hurt her? He would never let it.

'Ray, I don't know if I can see him. Talk to him. I… I don't know if I can even be in the same room as him right now.'

He was sorry for having to force her, but he knew she would regret it if she didn't. 'I think you should try,' he insisted.

She frowned at him. 'Why are you pushing this?'

'Because I know you Neela, I know how you will feel if you don't. One way or the other, you're going to have to speak to him. Say goodbye, make your peace. Whether the goodbye is temporary or not, that's entirely up to you.'

She didn't want to admit it, but Ray was rightShe would never be able to live with herself if she let Michael go without talking to him, and he… She refused to even think that thought, it was too awful. But what could she say to a husband who was on the verge of abandoning her, and had only just thought to tell her? A husband she had betrayed anyway. A husband she wasn't even sure she was in love with. She guessed the right words would appear when she saw him.

Slowly, reluctantly, she disentangled her hands from Ray's and stood up. 'You're right,' she sighed. 'I can't leave things like this.'

He nodded in agreement and she started walking towards the door when a thought suddenly struck her. She had been utterly stunned by Michael's announcement, lost for words, yet Ray seemed… unsurprised.

She turned back to him. 'Did you know?' Her voice was even, not angry. She didn't have any anger left.

'I…' He didn't want to hurt her any more than she already had been, but she deserved the truth. 'Sort of. When I came home from work yesterday, I met Michael on the stairs. He was in uniform, and he told me that he had a meeting about his residency. There was something odd about it at the time, but I had no reason to disbelieve him, but now,' he shrugged. 'It makes sense.'

'I see.'

'I'm sorry Neela,' he apologised. 'If I'd have known something for sure, I would have told you.'

'Ray, it's all right. This is hardly your fault.'

'Still…'

She gave a little shake of her head, brushing away his apology. She appreciated his concern beyond words, but she knew that at the end of the day, she could blame nobody but herself for this. She had had doubts about her marriage, even wished it had never happened, and now as a punishment, it was being taken away from her, just like that.

'I had better…' She indicated towards the door, towards Michael.

'Uh, yeah, sure,' he said awkwardly. He sprang up to open the door for her.

'What would you say if I told you I was leaning towards non-temporary?' she said suddenly.

'Huh?' He was momentarily confused.

'If my goodbye to Michael was non-temporary,' she clarified, referring back to his earlier words. She ached to know what Ray _really _thought. How he _really _felt. Else how was she going to be able to decide?

He sighed. He would like to have believed her, but he wasn't going to get his hopes up, not again. He could just about learn to live with his emotions locked away in that little box he had crammed them into, and he wasn't willing to risk them spilling out. Not again.

'I'm not going to answer that Neela.'

She looked back at him, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. 'I didn't think you would somehow. I'm sorry for asking it.' He smiled at her, and her own extended a little more. 'Thank you Ray.'

'No worries.'

Then she turned her back on him, and went to talk to her husband.


	24. Talking

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: I'm sorry if you thought I'd forgotten about this one. If you're a regular reader of my stories, you'll know that I don't have a lot of writing time at the moment, and if not, well, my apologies. I've had a serious crisis of inspiration on this story, and I'd like to say a great big thank you to starryjen. If it wasn't for her, I might have given up on it altogether. I still feel like it's dragging on rather but it's not in my nature to not finish a job, so I'm having another go at it. And as far as the whole Zoë storyline goes, I included it because it was my original intention with this story to keep it extremely close to what happened in the show, but it didn't add anything to this story in my opinion, in fact, I think it didn't do it any favours at all, so my apologies for that. All I can say is hopefully things will be back on track now. And sorry for such a long note, I'll get on with the writing now.

She was dragging her feet, walking as slowly as she could towards the lounge, as if she was wading through treacle or syrup or something equally difficult. She prayed that the too short walk would last forever, because as long as she was on her way from one to the other, from Ray to Michael, she was still in the safe, secure limbo that she had retreated into. As long as she was still walking, she didn't have to decide, to pick either her marriage or her baby. She had spent the last five weeks embroiled in an inner turmoil, ever since the night of her wedding, ever since she and Ray had crossed that unspoken boundary. And she was still not one step closer to stopping that incessant spinning in her head.

But of course the walk ended, and all too soon. It was only a matter of a couple of dozen steps after all; she didn't have the power to stop time. If she had, she would have stopped it… when would she have stopped it? When she was with Michael? With Ray? Or at some innocent, ignorant time when she didn't know either of them? No, come what may, she couldn't wish she hadn't met either of them. They were both far too important to her.

The door from the kitchen to the lounge was ajar, and with a trembling hand, she pushed it open, the creak almost echoing in the silent apartment. She made herself step forwards, even though her feet felt like lead.

The light in the room was dim, coming only from the streetlamp outside, and rain was pattering against the window. Michael was sitting on the sofa, head buried in his hands and shoulders sagging. He looked utterly defeated and she knew with a pain that went right to her heart that she couldn't let him go off to Iraq like that. The way he looked now, she didn't even recognise such a broken figure. The sight of him like that, it made her decision for her, at least for now.

'Michael…' she began, her voice no more than a whisper.

He didn't move and at first she thought he was ignoring her, and she was on the verge of turning away from him, returning to Ray, before she saw his shoulders give a great heave, and she realised he was crying.

'Michael,' she said again, making the effort to force her voice out stronger this time. It still wasn't loud, but it was enough; he turned around.

He looked as if he wanted to speak, but after opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, he appeared to give up. He was still staring at her, and after a while, she took it as an invitation to come further into the room, ignoring the tiny, niggling little voice in the back of her mind telling her that their marriage was in tatters and he couldn't even be bloody bothered to say anything. She made herself take pity on him though. Her own tongue felt like it was superglued to the roof of her mouth, her throat felt like it was full of cotton wool, and it was taking every ounce of effort she had to talk. She could hardly blame him for not being able to.

Slowly, she made her way towards him, but didn't sit next to him on the sofa, instead perching on the edge of the armchair. It was as close as she felt she could go for now. 'Michael,' she began for a third time. She knew she was going to have to say more than that, but right at that moment, she couldn't think of anything at all. Her mind was blank.

Finally, he seemed to find his voice. 'Just say what you've come to say Neela. Don't draw it out, it only makes it worse.' His tone was dead, dull, flat. Completely defeated.

'You said you wouldn't be away for more than six months, right?' she asked abruptly. She thought that was what he had said earlier, but the exact memory had been swept away by the tide of the argument that followed, and she wanted to know.

He had let his head sink back into his hands, but at her question, he glanced up at her again briefly, slightly confused, with a flicker of a frown creasing his brow. 'Yes. It might only be four.'

Four months. Six months, even. He could be out there and home again in no time. If he went, he could be home again before the baby… No Neela, she cut herself off instantly. You have _got _to choose. Marriage or baby. Michael or Ray. Not both.

'If you were to go, you wouldn't be on the front line, would you?' As much as she hated talking and thinking about the war, she wanted to know exactly how high the stakes were, what risks he was facing.

'I go where I'm sent Neela. There's no telling where it might be.'

'I see.'

Her tone was clipped, and he knew that she thought he was being unhelpful. 'Technically I'm not there to fight, I'm there to treat people. But the people who need treating are usually pretty near to the front line. It would be the same as last time Neela; if I said it wasn't dangerous, I wouldn't be telling you the truth,' he said.

She nodded.

A leaden silence fell between them again. Neela had found that her morning sickness, although not too serious since they had returned from Jamaica, hadn't been limited to the mornings, and a strong wave of nausea overcame her now. She sat very still for a moment, swallowing hard against the bile rising up in her throat.

Her hands were still trembling a little, but she held them firmly in her lap where he couldn't see them. She didn't want to display too much emotion, anything that might give Michael the upper hand. She wanted control over this situation, because she was still terrified that if they got into another argument, she might blurt out something she shouldn't. And with Ray in the next room. He deserved to hear the truth, but not in a shouted argument between her and her husband.

When, eventually she trusted herself to speak, she turned towards him again. 'You know how I feel about you going back so I'm not going to say it again. But…' She took a deep breath. 'But… when you come home –' she placed ever such a slight emphasis on the "when", as if she was telling him that he _would _be coming home, 'I'm willing to give this another try.'

This time when he looked at her, there was a flicker of life in his eyes that hadn't been there before. 'What are you saying?' he asked.

'I'm saying,' she said slowly, 'that when you come back, not now, tonight, but when you come home again, that I think we may still be able to salvage something.' There was a leap of hope in his eyes, and she was swift to quell it. 'It's not going to be easy Michael, you've got a lot to make up for before I can trust you again. But we can try.'

'Thank you,' he said simply. 'That's all I ask for. All I deserve.'

'There are conditions.'

He waited to see what she was going to say; he hadn't expected it to be otherwise. He knew he had hurt her very badly with his decision to go back, and was surprised that she was still sitting here talking to him. Ten minutes ago, his money would have been on her falling unprotesting into Barnett's all too welcoming arms. He had heard them in her room, talking.

'I'm not going to move out, find us an apartment. I don't want to set up a home for us without you there, it just seems… pointless.'

'So you would be staying here, with…' He let the sentence die away. They both knew who he meant.

'Yes. I can imagine that's not exactly what you would want me to do, but sorry, that's the way it's going to be. I can't handle being on my own at the moment, I don't want to be. And I'm settled here, I don't want to move for the sake of it. If we were going somewhere together, that would be different, but…'

'It's okay. I understand.'

Neela looked up, surprised. 'You do?' Suddenly, it struck her just how little she knew Michael. She had expected him to get jealous, possessive even, to say that he wasn't going to go off and leave his wife living with another man for months. But instead, he just gave her a sad, resigned little smile.

'Yes. It'll help, knowing there's someone to look after you while I'm away.'

'Really?' she asked.

'Yes. Really. Is there anything else?'

Neela was on the back foot now, and all the other things that she was sure had been in her head, on the tip of the tongue had evaporated. 'I… uh…'

'You're to call me. Not just letters like last time.' If she was going to keep her resolve and have an abortion, keep Michael in the foremost of her mind, she knew she was going to need to hear his voice. Words on a page weren't going to be enough.

'All right.'

'And you're to be careful Michael. Really careful. I'm going to need to know that you'll be coming home again.'

'Neela, if you're going to be here waiting for me, if you're willing to give me and our marriage another try, then I swear to God I'll be the most careful US soldier ever to have set foot in Iraq. You're my reason for living.'

She found herself smiling at him. That was the thing that was making her stand by her decision; of course there was pride, she was too stubborn to admit she might have made a mistake in getting married, but every now and again, no matter what doubts she had, Michael would say something and her heart would just melt. In those moments, gazing into his dark brown eyes, she felt like the luckiest woman in the world to be married to such a loving man.

She reached out from where she was sitting, hands in lap, and entwined her fingers with his, giving his hand a quick squeeze. 'There's one more thing.'

'Name it.'

'You're on the couch tonight. I'm sorry, but I just…'

'No, that's fine. Believe me Neela, I'm just happy that you're giving me a chance.'

She stood up. 'Well, I'm umm… going to go to bed,' she said awkwardly, glancing towards the door. She heard the tap being turned on in the bathroom. 'What time do you have to leave in the morning?'

'I have to catch a bus out to the base at eight.'

'I'll get up early. We can go for breakfast before you go.'

'You don't have to do that.'

Neela realised at that moment they were talking with all the awkwardness, the stilted politeness, of two strangers, perhaps who had met in a bar one evening and spent the night together, and who, come the morning, realised that despite a sense of attraction, maybe a vague fondness based upon a favourable first impression, they had nothing at all in common. And she knew, notwithstanding a band of gold and a marriage certificate, that's exactly what they were.

It made her draw away, and she found herself stepping backwards, towards the door.

'I don't mind. Breakfast will be nice.'

'Breakfast it is then. Goodnight Neela.'

It took all of her willpower not to run to the bathroom. She knocked quietly at the door, and Ray opened it, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He had been a little too close to the door to be simply brushing his teeth and she surmised he must have been listening.

'You heard?'

He shrugged, and turned to the sink, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste. He wasn't going to admit to eavesdropping; he might not have a lot of pride left, but there was still a shred remaining, and he was going to hang onto that. 'The walls are thin,' he replied shortly.

'Is… is it okay if I stay?'

He looked at her properly for the first time since she had come into the bathroom. Say no, a small voice in his head told him. Self preservation, Barnett. Yeah, like Hell. He found himself smiling at her.

'Sure thing Roomie.'


	25. Promises and Wishes

Disclaimer: As before

Author's Note: Okay, I probably shouldn't give this away for you to use against me, but I respond well to guilt trips and, I presume by complete coincidence, two of my charming reviewers happened to ask me on the same day about another chapter for this story which made me feel sufficiently bad to give myself a kick up the arse and get on and write this. So there, now you know, the more you nag, the more you get! This chapter, by the way, is a bit of a bridge towards the final part of this story, which of course will be based around the parts of the show that I know you have all been waiting for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I can't say that I'm entirely happy with it, but have a read and please tell me what you think.

Breakfast with Michael had been awkward. Not painfully, toe curlingly awkward, but uncomfortable all the same. It was the politeness that was annoying her, Neela realised after the second cup of coffee. They were both being too polite, the conversation was stilted, both of them trying so hard to skirt around the massive unmentionable subjects that stood between them that the denial of the problems turned out not to be a denial at all, just a different, more silent, way of acknowledging them.

Although she had expected it to be her, in the end it was Michael who was the first to lose his temper at the break-your-teeth-on-it brittle formality.

'Is this what it's going to be like Neela?' he said, throwing his fork down on his plate with a flash of anger she couldn't assimilate with his normal, mild character.

Immediately, she was contrite. He was really trying, she could see by his earnest expression, and she'd said she would give him a chance. Sitting here talking to him like a stranger, even though that was what he felt like, wasn't much of a chance, although she was yet to be convinced he deserved more. If she didn't feel so damn guilty herself, would she honestly have let Michael get away with this?

'I'm sorry Michael. I'm… I'm trying okay? I'm sorry that it isn't good enough.'

At that, he shook his head. 'No, I'm sorry. I told myself last night, and I meant it, that I was grateful for any slight hope that you might give me that our marriage wasn't over, and yet here I am this morning complaining, making demands.'

'Look,' she said in a fair tone, 'this isn't going to be easy. It's going to be bloody hard. There isn't some kind of guidebook that we can follow to help us out here and I don't know what to do. It's just… I don't think I trust you right now, and it's going to take me a while to learn to again, but I can't when you're not here. It's hard having to wait. It's – it feels like everything is on hold for this indeterminate length of time, and I find that difficult.'

She thought that was a fairly accurate assessment of the small part of her feelings that it was all right to share with her husband. She _did _feel betrayed by him, perhaps not terminally so, but certainly seriously, and now the chance had been taken away for the time being to work through their problems, she felt as if they were stuck in some sort of limbo. Married but not together, estranged but not divorced.

As for the rest of it, Ray, the baby, even if she had been able to talk to someone, she had no idea what she would say. God, it was all so screwed up. Her head was an utter mess and she didn't know what to do to unscramble it.

'It's okay Neela. I get that I'm asking the earth from you and offering very little in return. All I can say is that in time, in a few months or however long it's going to be, I promise to be every inch the husband you want me to be. I really will be. I love you so much.'

She was moved by her words in spite of herself. He really did mean it. But then, if he didn't, then this whole situation would be ten thousand times easier. She sensed he was waiting for her to respond with a similar declaration for love and she thought about it, deciding whether or not she could say it. She wanted to part on good terms with him, Ray's advice of the night before echoing in her head, and she wasn't sure if lying to him would leave too bitter a taste in her mouth.

In the end, she said it. She might mean it in a different way than he did, but it was the truth. 'I love you too Michael.'

'You do?' He didn't quite look surprised or disbelieving, just as if he hadn't entirely been expecting to hear those words. She wondered how far he would pursue it. She knew that in their arguments last night, while she hadn't explicitly said anything, Michael had known that there was something, something to do with Ray, that she was skirting around and he was too intelligent a man to have forgotten about it.

'Yes Michael. I _do _love you.' She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, surprised at how warm it was. Hers was freezing. She tried a small smile. 'I married you, didn't I?'

'Yes, you did.' He seemed encouraged by that thought. 'Can I ask you something?' he began tentatively.

She sighed; this was it, unless she could deflect him in some way. She looked briefly at her watch. 'Michael, you've only got a few minutes before you need to catch a cab. I want this to be a happy parting, as happy as it can be. I want to be able to think of you while you're gone and look forward to you coming home. I'm not going to deny that we have a lot of talking to do, but I'm not sure now is the time. I'll still be here when you get home, that I promise you.'

'Will you though, Neela? Will you really?' He looked at her searchingly, and she realised that was as close as he would come to asking her outright about Ray.

She squeezed his hand. 'Yes, I promise.'

It wasn't until after he had gone, after she waved the cab down the street and began to walk home, that she got a terrible, overwhelming feeling that she was never going to see him again.

The days after he left passed into weeks, and the feeling faded. She spoke to him on the phone a couple of times a week, and the rational, logical side of her brain calmed down enough to discount any silly premonitions that her fevered, hormonal imagination had conjured up. Still though, she didn't share her feeling with anyone, not even with Ray. To say it made it real, possible, and that was something she absolutely couldn't contemplate.

Much as she didn't want to think about the baby, she made an appointment with an obstetrician over at Mercy, as she knew she was due her ten week scan. Abby had recently announced she and Luka were having a baby and she was positively glowing with impending motherhood. When Neela looked at her, she glowed with jealousy. Abby looked so damn well, not to mention the happiest she had ever seen her, and yet Neela felt at her very lowest ebb.

The worst were the emotions. She was up and down all the time, all over the place. She could cry at a soap opera these days, go mad at some poor unfortunate in the doctor's lounge for drinking the last of the coffee, and yet, weirdly, remain unmoved at her own situation. She seemed stuck in some rut of denial that she didn't know how to pull herself out of.

The day of the scan dawned grey and depressing. Both she and Ray had a rare day off together and an enormous part of her that she was finding it difficult to argue against wanted to forget about the scan and just spend the day with him. She didn't care what they did, but she was painfully aware that their days in the apartment together, for what reason she wasn't sure yet, were numbered, and she was reluctant to waste them.

He wandered into the kitchen at around eight o'clock, early for him on a day off. He must have heard her moving around. He smiled at her as he perched himself on the worksurface, and she tried to ignore the fact he wasn't wearing a t-shirt.

'Morning,' he said. 'What are you doing up so early? Are you expecting a call from Michael?' How many men, she wondered, would be able to ask that question without a trace of bitterness? He was so selfless, just trying to be neutral, chatty, whoever she wanted him to be.

'No,' she replied. 'Not today.' She left it at that. 'Would you like a cup of tea?' Since the pregnancy, she'd given up the vast quantities of coffee she used to drink, and switched to tea, even though some smart alec scientist maintained that contained just as much caffeine. If Ray had noticed the switch, he hadn't commented.

'I'd love one thanks. Would you like me to make it?'

'No, it's fine. You can be on pancake duty.' Funnily enough she was reminded of the morning Michael had left and their breakfast together. This, between her and Ray now, was as easy as that had been awkward. How? How did he manage to make her just relax and be herself like he did?

'No worries.' As he began to whisk the mixture, he turned towards her. 'So, what plans do you have for the day? There must be something, else you'd still be hibernating until lunchtime.' Then he gave her that fantastic lopsided smile of his. 'So would I be for that matter.'

'Oh, I've got a few things I need to do,' she said vaguely, hoping he wouldn't question her, even though she ached to tell him. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a parallel universe, where life wasn't so complicated, and Ray would be going with her to this scan and they would be a happy young couple in love, excited about their forthcoming child. Then she dismissed the idea; it was too dangerous to allow herself to think like that for more than a few seconds, but she knew when she looked at him, she couldn't quite eradicate the sadness in her eyes.

Ray watched her carefully as she pottered around the kitchen, clearly distracted by something. God, he wished she'd just talk to him. He knew there was something bothering her, he could just tell, and it would be convenient to put it down to Michael's absence, but some deep instinct told him that it was more than that. But then, what could be _more _than having your new husband desert you for a war zone?

It upset him that she was keeping things from him, but he reflected sadly that what else could he expect? She wasn't his Neela anymore, she never really had been, except for that one night. He didn't have any _right _to quiz her. Although… they were friends, weren't they? Best friends. That must mean something.

'Neela,' he began. 'You'd tell me, wouldn't you, if there was something troubling you?'

She jumped a little, and turned towards him. He thought how tired she looked, almost ill. 'I…' She tried to say something, but she wasn't sure what the right answer was, so she gave him a shrug instead.

'I mean it Neela. I hate that you don't confide in me. I wouldn't mind so much, but I don't think you're talking to anyone else either, and you look so… lost all the time. As if you need to let it all out.'

'Ray, I…'

'I don't mind what it's about, it can be about Michael if that's what you need it to be. I'm worried about you.'

He was looking at her so tenderly, so full of care that Neela felt her heart melt. She took a halting step towards him, and before she knew what was happening, she was enveloped in the biggest, tightest hug she thought she'd ever felt. His arms were strong and comforting and she felt so wonderfully safe and protected that she never wanted to be anywhere else.

'Oh Ray,' she said shakily, knowing that he would be able to feel her tears against his bare chest, 'I wish I could.'

He held her away from him, and used one hand to brush away her tears, allowing his fingers to linger on her cheek. Her eyes were glistening, and she was looking at him so soulfully he felt himself drowning. 'You can,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I swear to God Neela, you can tell me anything.'

For the fleetest of moments, she considered it. Right now, she felt that he really would do anything for her, that he really would stick by her with this baby, that her dreams really could come true. Then she came back to reality. That's all they are, Neela, she told herself. Dreams.

Her voice was barely audible when she finally spoke, but she knew he heard her. 'I just wish things could be different.' And from the way he squeezed her tightly, and the way she heard his breath hitch in his throat, she knew he wished it too.


	26. Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Disclaimer: As before. Borrowed the title chapter from Jack Johnson, not sure why, just seemed to fit!

Author's Note: I am truly rubbish at this updating malarkey, for which I heartily apologise. I thought it was _high _time this story deserved a bit of attention. This is kind of another transition chapter I'm afraid, I didn't feel like the last one did quite enough, but I think after this the story will be ready to move onto the lead up to the Out on a Limb/Lost in America/Strange Bedfellows drama. Or at least, that's the plan. As always, please review and let me know what you think.

The scan went… okay. There had been no overwhelming rush of emotion as an overly chirpy obstetrician pointed out with glee the faint outline of a foetus on the ultrasound monitor, but at least that meant no fear, no dread, either. It was just… okay. No white hot stab of pain, but no puppy dogs and flowers. _Definitely _no bloody puppy dogs and flowers.

She tried to summon up some sort of emotion that was more remarkable than that, something that she deemed to be suitable for such an enormous thing as a new life starting inside her, but, sitting on the El watching the city fly past a rain streaked window, she just couldn't. Everything she saw was grey, blurred, depressing, and she had to admit, she felt a level of affinity with such bleakness.

It had taken every ounce of willpower Neela possessed to walk away from Ray earlier in the morning. She had felt so fabulously safe and comforted in his arms, and she hadn't wanted to leave their strong, encircling grip _ever_,but she knew she must. The way he had looked at her, so full of caring, almost made her tell him about the baby, but only almost. At the last minute, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth and she couldn't get the words out. She wanted to be able to, but there didn't seem to be a way of untangling Ray, Michael, baby.

They were one big jumble in her head and she knew she needed time, and a hell of a lot more courage than she possessed, to separate them out. Every way she looked at it, whatever path she took, she stood to lose everything, and she knew it was selfish of her and at the end of the day, no more than she deserved, but she couldn't bear to lose Michael, he was her husband and estranged though they were, being away from him made her remember his kindness, a thousand caring little gestures that made her miss him more than she thought she would. But then at the same time, Ray was… Ray. And the idea of so much as a single day passing without seeing him, without having him eat her cereal and make fun of her and make her smile when she felt like she was dying inside, was just… It was impossible to even think it.

Resting her head wearily against the glass, Neela took the scan picture out of her bag, and looked at it. The image was grainy, and a little too dark to see properly, but the obstetrician had pointed out where the baby was and Neela had made sure to make a mental note of it, so she would know. She fingered it slowly, wondering.

As always, she allowed herself a brief, fanciful moment of holding a beautiful baby in her arms, playing with a chubby, giggling toddler in the park, of tucking a child into bed while the little boy or girl excitedly chattered away about their day at school. She always kept the child's father deliberately vague in these fantasies, but in the background, there was always music playing, and that was enough to tell her what her subconscious wanted.

Then, after a few seconds, she brought down the shutter in her mind and forced herself back into rational thought. Was it honestly a person growing inside her, or was it a bunch of cells? All right, so its heart was beating, but after all, a heart was just an organ, just a bunch of cells itself. Was it just a part of her body, or was it already a body, a person, in its own right? Or was it something indefinable between the two, gradually tipping from the latter end of the balance to the former? At what point in the scale did it become wrong to have an abortion? Was there a point in the scale where it _wasn't _wrong?

The thoughts swirled around and around in her head faster and faster until she felt dizzy and nauseous with them, although she supposed the nausea was probably more to do with the hormones rather than the thinking.

Baby, no baby; Michael, Ray, marriage, betrayal, love, duty. She must have an odd expression on her face because there was a woman standing over by the train doors was looking at her quizzically and Neela knew she was only one step away from coming over and asking her what was wrong. Neela shot her a forbidding glance, just in case. The last thing she needed was kind hearted strangers prying into her business.

It was nothing like as hard as enduring Ray's concern though. When he had enveloped her in his arms this morning, her heart had just melted and for a few short seconds she had truly felt like everything was going to be all right. He was so kind, caring, so far away from the person she had once thought him to be. Every time she looked in his eyes, the love she saw reflected back at her made her believe that maybe there was the slightest chance that this could all work out somehow.

She looked down at the picture again. It was far too early to tell if it was a girl or a boy, but for a moment, she allowed to wonder which it was. She laid a gloved hand on her stomach and tried to _feel _which.

Nothing. For all the thinking, worrying, wondering, wishing, she didn't feel a connection to what was happening inside her body. It was as if it was a biological process that was evolving separately to what was going on in her head, which she supposed it was. She had thought, over the last weeks, if she would feel more if Michael was the father, but she had come to the conclusion probably not. It would be easier, sure, to retreat into a state of denial that everything was all right and Michael would come home and they would raise the baby together and live happily ever after…

But of course it wouldn't be like that even if the baby was Michael's. She couldn't think of her husband without a wave of white anger washing over her, and on the rare occasions they had spoken on the phone since he had been gone, their conversations had been awkward, stilted, a polite exchange between strangers.

And yet… her conversations with Ray hadn't been much better. There was the same brittle awkwardness, although it was because there was so much feeling there, rather than so little. But that didn't make it any easier, it just added to the guilt.

God, the guilt. It was a black cloud hanging over her, wrapping itself around her, slowly but determinedly squeezing the life out of her. But not enough to squeeze out the memory of Ray's hands dancing over her skin, leaving a trail of fire behind, the image of him, an expression of absolute concentration etched onto his beautiful features, as he slid himself inside her, the feel of his lips nestling in the crook of her neck.

How could you feel so terrible and yet so _good _at the same time? Even reliving the memory of their night together made her feel alive, and a hope sang through her veins that simply wasn't there when she thought of Michael. But she had made a promise to her husband that she didn't think it was fair to break. It wasn't as if she had decided once and for all, she was just waiting for him to come home. Then she could decide. All she needed was a little more time…

Ray looked at the clock. It was almost twelve thirty, and Neela had said she would be back around lunchtime. He wondered for a minute if he should be getting worried that she wasn't back yet but then reasoned that "lunchtime" could cover a pretty wide time range. "Lunchtime" could be as early as midday, sure, which would mean she was late, but who honestly ate lunch at midday. "Lunchtime" was much more likely to be one o'clock, or even two o'clock. Did people eat lunch as late as two? Probably. So that meant that he didn't need to get worried… for another hour and a half.

An hour and a half? He was going crazy already, he didn't know what sort of a state he was going to be in by then if she didn't get home soon. It wasn't that he was a natural worrier, far from it, but Neela wasn't herself at the moment, there was something eating away at her; she'd as good as admitted it this morning when she had said that she wished she could tell him what was wrong.

They were meant to be friends, they were meant to be able to talk about things – hadn't he proved to her that he would be there for her, that he would even listen if she needed to talk about Michael? It would be killing him inside, but this wasn't about what he wanted or needed, for him this was all about her. Where _was _she?

He realised then that he was pacing up and down the hall, running a hand agitatedly through his hair and immediately stopped himself. He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets and took a couple of breaths to calm himself. Christ, what was the matter with him? He'd never been like this before, about anyone or anything. Not just the crazily in love, heartbroken bit, but the anxiety as well. God, she just had _that _much effect on him.

Taking care not to look at the doorway where they'd… he made his way into the kitchen. He'd noticed that on top of everything else, Neela hadn't been eating a lot lately – obviously missing her husband (in his thoughts, he always made a point of referring to Michael as Neela's husband, which was a little masochistic, but it helped remind him that the woman of his dreams was married and completely unavailable) – so he had planned to cook her a nice lunch. It might drive him up the wall a bit further, but if it cheered her up and got her eating something, then it would have served its purpose. After more deliberation than he knew the matter either deserved or needed, he'd decided on Caesar salad, just the way she liked it, with homemade dressing and real Parmesan and heaps of anchovies.

He started to wash the lettuce leaves, humming a couple of new songs that he had written recently and was still working out the exact tunes for to try to distract himself. Where was she anyway? She'd been evasive about where she was going. Well, not evasive as such, she said she had a dental appointment, but some sixth sense had told him she was lying, and he hated the thought that they were lying to each other. With a stab of pain, he remembered that other lie she told him, the one that he kept trying to tell himself wasn't a lie but in fact an unpalatable truth, but he remained unconvinced. She _did _love him, she did, despite what she said.

If she wasn't going to the dentist though, where would she be going? Why was it a secret? Maybe to some internet café or something to talk to Michael over the net or something? But then, why lie, why the secrecy? If she was on the phone to Michael, she was discreet but didn't try to hide it, so there was no reason why she would lie now. So, _what_?

He grated the parmesan, cursing as he scraped his knuckles on the grater. Maybe he should call Abby. She might know where Neela was. He put down the block of cheese and pulled his cell out of his pocket; Abby's name was the first in his address book and his thumb hovered over the call button. No, he was being stupid. Abby would be at work, or busy with pregnancy stuff, she didn't need him bothering her. _Neela _didn't need him bothering her, however much he wished she did.

'Don't Ray, don't check up on her,' he muttered to himself. 'She's not yours to worry about.'

He went back to grating parmesan, and waiting.


	27. Quicksand

Disclaimer: As before, except the Jack Johnson bit

Disclaimer: As before, except the Jack Johnson bit. No borrowed song titles here.

Author's Note: With this story, I rather like to wait and wait until the point you have given up even the faint hope of another chapter ever appearing, then spring one on you. And of course, so pleased will you be to have more of this story, you will instantly forgive me for the unforgivable length of time since the last update, and I will be flooded with reviews. _Or _I've had neither time nor inspiration, but eventually the guilt overcame me and I had to write something. Take your pick.

Neela was sitting on the beach on the edge of Lake Michigan, well, it wasn't much of a beach, not like the ones she used to go to on family holidays to Cornwall or Devon or Brighton when she was a child, but given how ridiculously far it was to the coast proper from Chicago, it wasn't bad. There was an early breath of spring in the air, nearly a month now since the last snowfall and it was almost warm. A gentle breeze was blowing in off the water, lifting her hair away from her face and lightly billowing it back over her shoulders, and she found it sort of soothing.

Lately, she had been working as much as was physically possible, which was a lot given that her morning sickness had almost entirely subsided. She was on a surgical rotation and was using that as an opportunity to completely immerse herself in work, which was doing the trick to an extent. She had managed to keep her mind empty of thoughts, other than of technical procedures and the human anatomy, for much of the time, which although didn't help her situation, had stopped her from going crazy.

Ray had been his usual self. Since the hug in the kitchen on the morning of her ten week scan, when she had as good as admitted to him there was something seriously wrong, he had been quieter than usual, as if he was trying to figure it out, but he was still his caring self. He would cook her dinner that she would try her hardest to eat, enough though she had to force the food down her throat, and rent movies for them to watch together. She could tell her was trying to make her life as normal as possible while Michael was away, and she was grateful to him, but in the end, it just made the pain worse, the decision harder.

She picked up a handful of soft sand and let it slowly run through her fingers, like time. She had let time run through her fingers as well. Today was the very last day an abortion would be legally an option for her, and there she was, sitting on a beach, as far away from a clinic as she could possibly get. She tried not to think of potential quips regarding sand, and the burying of heads, specifically her own, but she knew that even this non-decision of hers was a decision in itself.

US abortion law had decided that she was going to have this baby, now all the debate had been narrowed down to was whether she was going to _keep _the baby. She had a bit of a bump now. It wasn't huge, nowhere near as big as Abby's, who was at thirty two weeks now, and already hitting the waddling stage, but it was there all the same. She'd been grateful for the surgical rotation, spending her days (or nights) with people who didn't know her well enough to notice, and certainly not comment on, the additional pounds she had put on, but had been careful to wear slightly oversized scrubs all the same. They hid a multitude of sins, well, one in particular in her case, but they added to the self loathing chronically. She felt like some stupid teenage girl, trapped into hiding her pregnancy for fear of the consequences if people found out, which she supposed she was, except the "teenage" bit.

God, how had this happened? How had she let it get this far? And, crucially, why the hell was she out here and not at the clinic? She'd booked one last appointment, having already made five, each of which she went to, sitting blankly, numbly, in the waiting room until long, long after her name was called out, but at this rate, she wasn't even going to make it to the clinic this time. It was meant to be at two thirty, but it was already ten to two and she was a good three quarters of an hour away. She wouldn't make it in time, and she had lost the will to even try. She had lost the will for everything lately, except work.

The baby kicked. It had been doing this for several weeks now, and although she hated to admit it to herself, those moments, and the ones she spent with Ray, were the only ones that made her feel something approaching alive. She wondered what that meant. Should she throw caution to the wind and try for her fantasy of her, Ray, baby, or was it just hormones, emotions. She'd have to be made of stone not to feel something when the baby kicked, it was hardly significant. And with Ray… well, you'd have to be made of stone not to feel something at that smile either. And although increasingly she felt as if she was, she wasn't made of stone.

She sighed heavily. She should get going. Not to the clinic, she'd already given up on that one, but she needed to go to the store and buy some groceries. In her wisdom, in an attempt to break the connection to Ray by reconnecting to her life with Michael, she had looked up and joined a support group for army spouses. How, quite, it would help, she wasn't sure, but at the end of the day it couldn't do any harm. At least it would take her somewhere other than the hospital or the apartment, and maybe she would hear or remember something to make her enormous anger and sense of betrayal at Michael fade away and recall why she loved him. Because she must do, she had married him, so she must love him.

The drawback to the group was that she had to bake something. Herself, from scratch. Which was not one of her strong points. Restart a heart that had ceased to beat, clamp an artery that was bleeding out, _save a life_, yes, but baking? Not a chance. Still though, she was going to need some ingredients to try, so she had better get moving. Slowly, she made her way back to the city.

Ray was in Ikes. He didn't care that it was the afternoon, he needed a beer. Besides, it was lunchtime, sort of, and it was more than acceptable to have a beer with lunch. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't, but he wasn't on shift until tomorrow, Neela had done a disappearing act, and God knows there was no-one else to care or even notice, so why the hell shouldn't he have a beer?

He hadn't let on to Neela how many of his evenings, or worse, mornings when he had just come off a nightshift, had ended with a healthy dose of tequila. He hadn't slept properly for as long as he could remember and the alcohol helped. He was sure that sleeping pills would do the trick even better, and would be somewhat less hazardous to his driving the following day, but he would rather, fractionally, become an alcoholic than a pill addict, and he was definitely going to head that way if something didn't change soon.

He just wished, so so much, that Neela would tell him what was wrong. He would have to have been utterly blind not to have noticed, and his instincts told him there was more to it than just Michael. She hadn't been herself for a long time, months, but she still wouldn't open up about it. He'd tried everything, he had been as caring and as sensitive as he knew how. He'd cooked for her, cleaned for her, tried to make her temporarily husband free life as painless as he could, and received nothing but some absent minded thank yous and the odd wistful, almost sad smile when she thought he wasn't looking.

Some days he'd tried to press her, quiz her and question her and just generally bug her in the hope that he'd simply grind her down and she would capitulate just to shut him up. Other days, he would be quiet and kind and hope that that would make her start talking. There were moments when she would look so lost that he would just have to take her in his arms and hug her, even though he knew it was driving him slowly but surely insane, and sometimes he would feel his t-shirt hot and wet with her tears. Those were the times when he thought that she was very close to telling him what was troubling her, but every time there was some sort of annoying interruption, a telephone or a pager or the doorbell to denote the arrival of that night's takeaway of choice.

He'd noticed these moments were getting fewer and farther between though. Only yesterday he had tried to put his arms around her when he'd found her miserably standing at the sink, pretending to wash dishes but in fact simply staring blankly into space with her hands submerged in suds, but she'd shied away from him, stepping sideways out of his grasp and leaving him confused.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a very long, and he had to admit, shapely, leg slipping onto the stool beside him. 'Excuse me, is this seat taken?'

He'd never been able to say "yes" to that question. It seemed the height of rudeness if it was, as now, blatantly obvious that the seat was not at all taken. 'Um, no, feel free.' He gestured towards it vaguely, careful to sound non-committal. He wasn't adverse to a drinking buddy, but one of the extremely attractive brunette variety couldn't do anything but complicate matters.

His attention was caught in spite of himself however, when the girl hailed the bartender, smiled dazzingly, and said, 'bottle of Bud, please.' He would have put good money on her being a martini girl, or some stupid multi-coloured cocktail, or at the very least a vodka tonic. She just didn't look like a _beer _girl.

He must have been staring because she turned to him, and raised a perfectly curved eyebrow. 'See something you like?' There was just enough smirk in her smile to tell him she was mocking him.

He sputtered into his beer. 'Sorry, I uh…'

She laughed. 'No problem.' Then she looked at him, a little frown of recognition flashing across her face. 'Oh wow. You're umm… You're Bret's mate aren't you, you were in the band with him before he went off to L.A. right? Ray, isn't it?'

He had a bit of a sputtering episode again. 'Yeah, I am. I'm really sorry, but I don't…'

She stuck out a hand, and he noticed fingernails that were neat, manicured, but not those awful long, scary kind. Best of all, they were painted black. He shook it, smiling at her genuinely for the first time.

'Ashleigh Manners,' she was saying. 'I used to date Bret for a bit. Well, sort of, as much as Bret was actually capable dating a girl. It was ages ago now, I'm not at all offended that you don't remember me.'

'Ray Barnett,' he replied. 'And sorry. For not remembering.'

'No worries. What are you doing with yourself these days?' she asked.

Ray found it incredibly easy to chat to her. They caught up on mutual acquaintances, of which they shared quite a few, and laughed at the patheticness of drinking in the afternoon, commenting that it was just as well they had found each other, as the only thing worse than drinking in the afternoon was drinking _alone_ in the afternoon. He realised, when there were four empty bottles apiece sitting on the bar in front of them that he might be a little bit drunk.

And with that realisation came another. He was enjoying himself. He was sitting in a bar, with an incredibly beautiful, funny, and, he found himself recalling, if Bret was to be believed, extremely flexible, girl, and he was _actually enjoying himself. _He hadn't thought about Neela in… well, however long it took him to drink four bottles of Budweiser, and that was a relief. It was a relief for his head to spinning from something other than thoughts.

It was time for him to be going though, while his legs were still able to carry him out of there in one piece. And alone. A couple more buds each and who knew what might happen?

He slid off his barstool. 'Well Ashleigh, it's been nice. Thanks.'

'Same,' she replied. 'So, umm…'

He wasn't sure if it was the beer or just the fact that he was revelling in feeling human, like himself, like Ray Barnett for the first time in months that made him say, 'Would you like to do it again sometime?'

His doubt was quickly dispelled was the smile he got in return. When she opened her mouth to reply, he got a glimpse of her tongue piercing. Oh man.

'I'd love to,' she said decisively.

'Great. I, uh. I'm working tomorrow, but I'm off in the evening. Do you want to come round to my place? I'll cook my famous Penne A La Barnett.'

'That sounds really good. Are you still living in the same place?'

'Yeah. Come over around sevenish?'

'It's a date.'

_Fuck. He had a date. _


	28. An attempted date

Author's Note: No, your eyes are not deceiving you, this actually, truly, is an update for Back to the Beginning. It was never my intention to leave the story on such an embarrassingly long hiatus, but as we have moved ever closer to the finale of ER, this story has just seemed… kind of dated to me I suppose, and I've found it difficult to muster the enthusiasm to write another chapter. However, I know that there are still some of you (a dwindling number I shouldn't wonder) who would like to see this story brought to a conclusion, and well, I do love the angst, so I thought I would see what I could do. It has been a really long time since I've seen any Season 12 action though, so please excuse me if I'm a little rusty. And I'm not even going to try to turn out one of the two and a half thousand word marathon chapters that I used to on this story, so apologies if it ends rather sooner than you are used to.

Disclaimer: As before

He'd tried to act nonchalant, asking Neela if she wouldn't mind vacating the apartment for his big date later, but he'd scanned every inch of her face to see if there was any hint of a reaction – surprise, hurt, anger, a flicker of interest even – at the prospect of him having a date, but her eyes stayed just as dead and lifeless as they had been for weeks.

He'd also tried to goad her into a temper, by telling her the truth over those _horrific _excuses for cookies that she'd baked for her Army Wives club or whatever the Hell is was, but although she was annoyed, there was a time not so very long ago that she'd have been half tempted to slap him round the face for his rudeness, and he ached to see that passion from her again.

He remembered the night she'd followed him a gig just to yell at him, all flashing eyes and angry words. That was the real Neela, _passionate, _someone who _cared. _The apathetic, defeated, _lost _looking girl that mumbled a disheartened hello over a bowl of cereal every morning wasn't Neela.

But there was nothing he could do.

The El pulled to a halt at his stop, and Ray rose wearily to his feet, picking up the brown paper bag containing the groceries he bought for the 'Penne a la Barnett' – just some chicken and pesto sauce, and started walking back to their apartment.

Yesterday, he'd been… well, not quite excited about his date with Ashleigh, but he would definitely been able to say that he was looking forward to it. He'd enjoyed drinking with her, and the way it had made him feel. She reminded him of Bret, and the band, and parties, and of a time where he wasn't in complicated, unrequited love with his beautiful roommate.

Except it _wasn't _unrequited, he was sure of it. If it had been, then it wouldn't be so damn impossible to walk away. He'd pack his bags, and get the Hell out, disappear off somewhere to lick his wounds and get over her. But he couldn't so much as step inside the door of the apartment without being reminded of that night. He had had a lot of one night stands, but that wasn't one of them. You didn't get that passion, that _love _from a hook-up.

And that was why he couldn't leave her. He was in the apartment now, and allowed himself to look at the spot where they'd been standing when she'd kissed him for the very first time. He closed his eyes, and revelled in the memory – her taste, her smell.

Then the realisation hit him. He couldn't go out with Ashleigh, not even a lighthearted little fling or, hell, not even a one-nighter. Never mind it not being fair on her or crap like that, he didn't _want _to, he wasn't interested. Sure, she made him feel better, but while Neela was still so obviously upset and not herself about something, then he didn't want to feel better. He wanted to be there for her.

He imagined what sort of mood she would be in when she came back from her meeting. It would have been a hard evening for her and her biohazard cookies. She might need him.

Without a second thought, he put the groceries down on the kitchen counter and plucked his cellphone out of his pocket.

'Ashleigh?'

'Hey babe, looking forward to later? I'm running a bit late so I'll be over in about an hour.'

She sounded casual, relaxed, not at all trying hard. Damn it, another time, another place, and he would really like this chick. He felt bad about what he was about to say. 'Umm, yeah, look, about tonight…'

'God, I know that tone. Are you standing me up?'

'I'm sorry Ashleigh, I… I thought I could do this, that I wanted to do this, but I'm hung up on someone else and I just… I love her. I'm sorry.'

He heard her sigh down the phone. 'No worries Ray, and thanks for being honest with me. Better you tell me know than in two months time or whatever.' She paused, and he sensed that she wasn't at all surprised. Her next words confirmed it. 'Is it that British chick you live with?'

'I…' He stumbled, not sure what to say. Was it _that _obvious? Was it that obvious to everyone at work as well? Did the whole world know he was in love with Neela?

'Because Bret used to say the two of you were made for each other, but he didn't think either of you would ever wake up and smell the coffee.'

'Well, I guess he was half right.' In that instant, he missed Bret and the rest of the guys more than he ever had before. He could really use a friend right now.

'She's not into you then?'

'She's married,' Ray explained, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice but finding it harder than he imagined possible. 'Her husband's in Iraq.'

'Bad luck,' she said, her tone much warmer and sympathetic than her simple words suggested. 'Bad luck for all of you really.'

'Yeah.'

'Look Ray, yesterday was nice and I'm kind of disappointed you've called tonight off, but hey, that's the way it goes. And if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where I am okay? And I do just mean talk, because it sounds like you've got something pretty messy going on at the moment, and I don't want to get involved, but it sounds as if you could use a friend. So, you know, call me.'

He smiled at her response. He definitely liked this girl. But he _loved _Neela. 'Thanks for being cool about this. It was nice to see you yesterday, good to catch up.'

'I mean it about calling you know,' she said kindly. 'I am an excellent shoulder to cry on, and in return for beer, I may even offer useful advice.'

He appreciated the offer of friendship, and for a moment, felt a little less alone than he had done for a while. 'I might take you up on that one lonely evening.'

'Good,' she replied emphatically. 'Do that. And good luck Ray.'

He ended the call, her last words echoing in the head. _Good luck. _He didn't have a clue what was going to happen, but he was as sure as Hell that luck was definitely something he was going to need.


	29. Ghost

Author's Note: Well, it's only been _five _months since the last time I posted a chapter (looks shamefaced). I can't even use the excuse that I've been battling for inspiration, because I have all the story pretty much mapped out, but I guess you could say my muses are having some motivational issues. But anyway, here you go. I hope (probably completely in vain) that it's worth the wait. I can't say I'm entirely happy with it, I feel like I lost the tone I was aiming at part way through, but you can be the judge.

Disclaimer: As before. The scene is obviously directly taken from Out on a Limb, with a little embellishment from me of course.

Neela paused before rummaging in her bag for her keys. The meeting had been terrible. She'd thought going would be a good idea. She thought if she spent some time with other army spouses, sympathising over common problems, she might feel a little closer to Michael, a little more part of what he was doing.

Or at least, that's what she told herself. She did want that, but what she _really _wanted, what she really wanted to know, was if what she was feeling was normal. She wanted – no, needed – to know if it was okay to be angry. Whether everyone felt betrayed that their husband or wife had chosen their country above their marriage. Whether everyone…

_Whether everyone was in love with their roommate instead of their husband. _

Because, she said to herself, that's what you really want to know. Are you really in love with Ray? Or is it some stupid infatuation? But then, it wasn't even an infatuation for him; he was already onto the next girl. Damn him. _Damn him. _He hadn't even _tried _to be sensitive about asking her to go out tonight so he could bring his date back. He was probably in there with her right now, making the walls shake.

Whatever her reasons for going, the meeting had been a disaster. She started off with a black mark against her name for bringing boughten cookies instead of home baked ones. _Huh, _she'd thought, _they wouldn't be so bloody judgemental of my baking skills if they came into the ER bleeding out from an obscure liver lac. _And it had just gotten worse from there really. She knew she'd been foolish though, it hadn't been the best place to mention that she was against the war.

But God, she was just so _angry. _With Michael, with Ray, with herself, with everything. This mess was not how things were meant to turn out.

She sighed wearily, and took her keys out of her bag, steeling herself for the trail of clothes that she would no doubt have to pick her way through before she could retreat to the sanctuary of her room. Determinedly, she swiped away the tears that had built up. Damn him. Damn them all. She _wasn't _going to cry.

Just before she inserted the key into the lock though, she paused. There was music coming from inside, but not one of Ray's normal punk rock choices. It sounded familiar though… It sounded like…

She burst through the door. 'Ray?'

There was a basketball game on the television, but he shifted awkwardly in the chair. 'Hey.'

She frowned. 'Are you watching Ghost?' She looked around the apartment. It was in darkness, the only light emanating from the television screen, but it looked like he was alone. No toothbrush stealing teenagers lurking in doorways. _Don't Neela, _she warned herself. _Don't get your hopes up._

'What?' He glanced up at her guiltily. 'No. No, it's the game.'

She wanted to smile, and if she'd had the slightest scrap of energy, she would have done. How did he do that? How, just when she thought she had him pegged, did he manage to totally blindside her? They had watched Ghost together once, when they'd both had the flu and been off work. He had made her watch three cult horror flicks in a row before she finally put her foot down, insisting on picking the next film, popping Ghost into the dvd player before he had a chance to argue. He'd said he hated it.

'Where's your date?' She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. God, it was hard though.

'Oh, um, yeah, something happened,' he replied evasively.

'She stood you up.'

Ray glanced up at her, contemplating whether to tell the truth. He tried sounding it out in his head. _I cancelled on the hottest, most perfect-for-me chick I've met in months because I'm so madly in love with you it's clearly eroded my thought processes. _No, he decided, definitely won't be going with the truth.

'Yeah. Fine. You know, if that's what you want to hear, she stood me up, okay?'

He knew his tone came across as pissed off, and realised actually he was. Was she so damn _unaware _of what she was doing to him? Did that night mean so little to her that she couldn't see what he felt?

And then she smiled, and sat next to him, and in an instant, all was forgiven. Now she was closer, he could see the remnants of tears glistening on her lower lashes.

'Well, you are a mere mortal after all,' she grinned. Her eyes were alight for a second, and the flash of happiness was in such a contrast to how she had been lately, it was amazing. He knew in that moment that he didn't care what happened, whether she drove him completely crazy, whether she lived happily ever after with Michael and he ended up throwing himself under a train in despair, that he would never, never have not known her. Whatever she put him through was worth it. She was worth it.

She flopped down on the couch next to him, still holding, he noticed, an unopened tub of cookies.

'You okay?' _Please tell me what's wrong._

'Is it possible to kick yourself out of a club?' she asked flatly.

He had been hoping for something a little more profound, but grateful for any scrap, he took a ridiculous sliver of comfort from the fact that her cosy little Army Wives Club hadn't gone well. To disguise the flicker of triumph that he felt burning, unwelcomed, in his chest, he leaned forward and picked two bottles of beer from the coffee table in front of them.

'Well, to better times, huh?' _Amen to that. _

She chinked the neck of her bottle against his. 'Yeah.'

One of the things Neela missed about Ray, above and beyond anything else, was the feeling of closeness. She had been so studiously avoiding him for the last few weeks that she had barely been in the same room as him for more than a few minutes at a time, and she had forgotten how good it felt to be near him.

She missed the way he would wind her up and up, then just as she was ready to hit him, he would flash that brilliant smile at her and she found herself forgiving him instantly. She missed telling him off. She missed laughing with him, talking to him, the countless insignificant moments they used to share every day. _The intimacy. _

Well, there was no reason why they couldn't be friends, at least for a while, until the storm broke. If Ray was seeing other girls, then the night they'd spent together obviously didn't mean all that much to him, so if she could at least pretend to put him back in the same box as he was before – roomie – then she could have just a couple more months that she could store in her heart forever. No matter what happened, she would have the memories.

And she couldn't bring herself to avoid him any longer. Not spending time with him every day was killing her.

'You know,' she found herself saying, 'I feel very proud of Michael. It's just sometimes, when I'm with those other wives, I start to get so angry, frustrated, and I talk to much.' _Like now, Neela. Stop. While you still can._

He glanced at her, the hint of a smile breaking through the attempt to keep a straight face.

'It's only because I miss him.' _And you, Ray. I miss you too. Even though I'm sitting right next to you, I miss you. _

She paused, thinking of something else before the words she really wanted to say were out and causing destruction. 'This is utterly pathetic.'

'What?'

'This. A married woman living like a college student, crying next to her roommate on a sofa.'

He didn't react. He wouldn't react. He wasn't going to let what he was feeling get out. Here she was, upset and lonely that her husband had left her and their marriage to throw himself into a warzone, and all he was thinking was how beautiful she looked and the way her skin glowed, and the fact that he really, really, wanted to take away all her pain. To kiss her, and make it all better. If only he could. _If only she'd let him._

He exhaled slowly, trying not to think about just how close she was. 'Okay, well,' he said when he felt his voice was steady enough not to give him away. 'I have something that will make you feel better.'

He dug down the side of the sofa and pulled out the remote control, selecting the World Poker Tour he'd recorded earlier.

'Oh, you recorded it for me.' Her voice perked up, and instantly she was engrossed in the television.

'Anything for my roomie.'

When he felt her head rest on his shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Worth it.

All of it, totally worth it.

_And now you've read that, can I pick your brains a moment? I have this idea, you know the kind, the annoying, bugging, won't go away type idea, for a new story. It's a Season 15 ER/AU Season 5 Grey's Anatomy crossover with Ray as one of the main, if not the main, character. Without giving too much away, the very basic, rough premise would be Season 15 with Ray based at Seattle Grace instead of Baton Rouge. What do you think? Would you read it? Should I bother? Or should I go lock my muses in a padded room?_


End file.
